


Big People Are Bad - re-write

by Marblez



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:28:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marblez/pseuds/Marblez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pippin is extremely jumpy around non-hobbit folk, going out of his way to remain un-noticed by them. </p><p>Sadly that is not possible on the Quest and he finds himself having to trust the people he fears with his life. </p><p>Will he ever get over the past horrors that haunt his dreams and plague his waking thoughts? </p><p>(originally posted on fanfiction.net)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One - Strider

Disclaimer: I own nothing…

Summary: Pippin is extremely jumpy around non-hobbit folk, going out of his way to remain un-noticed by them. Sadly that is not possible on the Quest and he finds himself having to trust the people he fears with his life. Will he ever get over the past horrors that haunt his dreams and plague his waking thoughts?

A/N: So many people have reviewed wanting this story to continue but I wrote it so long ago that, for an update to happen, I will have to completely re-write it as my style has changed dramatically. Hopefully you’ll still like the new and improved version.

 

Big People Are Bad – Re-Write

Chapter One - Strider

                The four Hobbit’s were sat together at one of the many tables in the Prancing Pony, their little legs dangling off the human sized benches. Merry had just returned from the bar with an enormous looking mug of ale which he announced was called a pint.

                “It comes in pints?” Pippin asked softly, his voice tinged with amazement and longing, looking down at his own empty half-pint mug which Sam had gotten him earlier.

                Merry grunted in agreement as his face all but disappeared inside the rim of the mug, his throat working as he chugged down some of the delicious ale that was on sale at the human inn. It was very different from the ale back home, Pippin had to admit, stronger and slightly bitter. They must use different ingredients than they did back in the Shire.

                “Could you get me one?” he asked hopefully, wanting to try drinking out of the big mug for himself, despite the fact that his head was already a little fuzzy, similar to how he would be after four hobbit sized pints of ale back home.

                “Pip, you can go to the bar and ask for one yourself, you know?” Merry answered a little impatiently, his words slurring slightly. Obviously the strong ale was affecting him as well because Pippin knew his best-friend would never normally be so short with him.

                “Um…no, I’ll just…” he muttered, biting his lip and pushing his half-pint away.

                “It’s all right, Pip, I’ll get you one,” Frodo offered in his kind was as per usual.

                Pippin noticed that unlike his three companions the leader of their little group had barely touched his own drink which wasn’t all that surprising as Frodo was the type of Hobbit who only liked to drink on special occasions and even then never drank to excess.

Frodo hopped down off of the bench and made his way up to the bar, politely asking a group of humans to let him through before pulling himself up onto one of the tall chairs at the bad so that he could be seen by the innkeeper.

                “I’ll have a pint of the house ale,” he told the innkeeper, reaching into his waistcoat for his coin purse when he heard someone saying his name. Baggins. Sucking in a sharp breath he turned to look back at their table, knowing that he needed to keep his identity a secret.

“B-Baggins…sure I know a…a…Baggins…” it was Pippin, stuttering hopelessly as he stared at the man leaning on the end of their table with fear filled eyes. In his panic the youngest member of their group had forgotten that they were to go incognito and was answering the mans questions a quickly as possible just so that the terrifying man would leave him alone. “He’s over there. F-Frodo Baggins…he’s my s-second cousin once removed on my…my mothers side…” he rambled on, pointing toward the hobbit sat at the bar. “And…and my third cousin t-twice removed on his f-fathers side…if…if you follow me…”

                “Pippin!” Frodo shouted in protest as the mans eyes, along with many others, turned to him. Stumbling down from the stool he hurried back to the table, dodging his way around the inn’s other patrons, intent on pulling his friends away and getting out of this place.

                “Watch it, Frodo!” Merry snapped as the panicked hobbits smashed into him, causing him to splash some of his pint, elbowing Frodo in the ribs. This move was so un-expected that Frodo fell to one side, the ring he had been ordered to protect flying out of his pocket and spinning in the air.

                All eyes were on the ring glinting in the candlelight as it fell down towards his outstretched hand…and then he was gone. Pippin let out a fearful cry, staring at the spot where his friend had just lain. What was going on?

                A general outcry of surprise spread around the inn as word spread about the disappearing hobbit and thankfully, when he looked away from the ground, the threatening man had gone and the three hobbits were alone at their table.

                “W-Where’s Frodo?” he asked in his usual voice, timid and slightly afraid.

                “Come on,” Merry ordered, pulling Pippin from the table by his arm, his grip a little too tight thanks to all the ale flowing through his system. At least the shock seemed to have gotten him back to his normal, caring self though.

                “There!” Same gasped all of a sudden as he spotted something, hurrying across the room to where Pippin saw a tall man in dark clothing shoving a bewildered looking Frodo up the stairs.

No!

Pippin began to hyperventilate as his friends armed themselves with a candlestick and a stool. This couldn’t be happening…not to Frodo…not because of him…not…not again…

“Take this,” Sam ordered, shoving the stool in Pippin’s trembling hands as the eldest hobbit amongst them led the way up the winding staircase in pursuit of the man who had taken their friend.

As they reached the top of the stairs they saw the tall man disappearing into of the man rooms on this floor, slamming the door shut behind him. Tears began to build up in Pippin’s eyes as his mind flashed through all the possible things that could be happening to his friend behind that closed door…unwillingly imagined images intertwining with memories of the past…

“Mr Frodo!” Sam cried out angrily as he rushed at the door, twisting the handle and shoving the door open as hard as he could, allowing the three of them to rush into the small room. They found the man with his sword drawn facing the now open door and Frodo had backed himself against the far well. “Let him go!  Or I'll have you Longshanks!” he screamed, threatening the man with his fists.

                Pippin let out a whimper of fear, suddenly finding it very difficult to breath.

                “You have a stout heart little hobbit! But that will not save you,” the man said, his voice deep and gravely but Pippin barely heard him, one hand leaving the stool to rub at his increasingly painful chest. His body was shaking. “You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They're coming.”

                And that was the last thing that Pippin heard before he let out a strangled gasp, the stool falling from his hand as his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed, completely unconscious even before his head struck the floor with an almighty bang.

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

                Pippin awoke to the feeling of someone pressing a cloth to the back of his head, right where the throbbing pain was coming from. He let out a whimper of pain, trying to jerk away from the unwanted pressure but froze when he heard a horrifyingly familiar voice murmur too close to him,

                “It’s alright, Master Hobbit. I am just trying to clean your wound…”

                “No!” Pippin cried out, his eyes snapping open and finding the mans face only inches from his own. A terrified scream escaped his lips as his hands pushed at the mans chest, catching him off guard and sending him tumbling backwards as Pippin scrambled away from him as quickly as he could.

                “Pippin!” Merry cried out, his voice heavy with sleep but soon the panicking hobbit found himself encased in familiar arms and being rocked soothingly back and forth. Another pair of little hands rubbed soothingly up and down his back, most probably Sam’s.

                “I’m sorry, I was merely trying to clean the dirt from his wound,” the man apologised.

                “Well don’t!” Merry snapped angrily. “Don’t touch him!”

                “All right little master, I won’t,” the man said, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender. Sam moved away from his friends slowly, reaching out to take the damp cloth from the human before returned to his spot on the large bed.

                “Pippin? Is it all right if I clean the blood out of your hair?” he asked softly.

                “B-Blood?” Pippin asked shakily from where his face was pressed into Merry’s shoulder.

                “You hit your head pretty hard when you fainted,” Sam explained softly. “Can I clean it?”

                “Hurts…” Pippin mumbled.

                “I know it does but I’ll be as gentle as I can,” Sam promised.

                “Kay…”

                So Sam set about carefully cleaning the wound to the back of Pippin’s head, wincing in sympathy every time his friend let out a pained whimper or a hiss.

It had terrified his three friends when he’d fainted earlier, the sight of a pool of blood slowly appearing beneath their friends head. None of them had moved quick enough to stop the human getting their first but they had been surprised by how gentle he was in pressing a cloth to the back of the injured hobbits head, staunching the bleeding before checking on the wound. He’d declared it was superficial, despite the amount of blood, and would heal fine given time.

“Your friend is afraid of me,” the human murmured to Frodo, his eyes watching the scene on the other side of the bed. Reluctantly the young hobbit nodded, looking away from the man who had called himself Strider. “Why? I wish only to help you.”

                “It’s…it’s not you,” Frodo answered softly. “It’s…complicated and…and it’s not my story to tell but…I promise it’s not just you…”

                “What do you–” Striders confused voice was cut of by an inhuman scream echoing through the night air, penetrating the room despite the thick walls, the bolted door and the glass windows.

It had come from the inn, the Prancing Pony, and all at once Frodo was thankful that the man had insisted that they move to a different inn across the street.

                “What are they?” Frodo asked softly.

                “They were once men, Great Kings of Men,” Strider answered sadly, looking at the three faces now staring at him fearfully. Pippin’s face was still buried in Merry’s shoulder and his body was still trembling though where it was because of what had happened with human or the sound that those things had made no one could tell. “Then Sauron the Deceiver gave them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgûl. Ringwraiths. Neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the One.” His eyes locked with Frodo’s as he murmured one final terrifying phrase, “They will never stop hunting you.”

                “What do we do?” Frodo asked softly.

                “We must leave this place at first light,” Strider said, rising from his seat on the edge of the bed and going over to the chair by the window. “I would get some sleep, little Hobbits, for we have a long journey ahead of us come the morning.”

                Frodo turned to look at his friends, sharing their fearful gaze before pushing the covers out from under him and slipping in underneath them. Sam followed suite after having leant over his best friend to place the now blood stained cloth on the bedside table.

                “Come on, Pip, let’s get into bed,” Merry murmured softly.

                “No…not with h-him here…” Pippin whimpered. Strider frowned.

                “It’s ok, Pip,” Merry said reassuringly, rubbing his friends back as Sam had done earlier. “You’ll be between me and Sam, nothing can happen to you when you’re between us. I mean come on, can you see anyone getting past Sam? He’s huge!”

                “Hey!” Sam protested with a smile as Pippin giggled softly. “I am not huge.”

                “Of course you’re not, Sam,” Frodo murmured, turning towards his friend and actually moving closer to him. Soon enough they were snuggling, Sam lying flat on his back with his right arm around Frodo’s waist as the dark hair hobbit used his shoulder as a pillow.

                “Let’s get some sleep, Pip,” Merry ordered gently, moving them so that they were lying underneath the covers. Pippin whimpered softly when Merry released him, eagerly turning to Sam who gathered him close to his side in a mirror image of what Frodo was doing. “Sweet dreams, Pip,” Merry murmured as he pressed up against his best friends back, his arm moving across the trembling hobbit to rest on Sam’s chest.

                Strider watched them from across the room as they each fell asleep, considering what strange creature’s hobbits were and wondering if all hobbits were this close or if it was something special about these four. Pippin was the last to drop off, his breath finally evening out and that was when the human turned away from them, fixing his gaze out the window as he prepared to keep watch through the rest of the night.

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

                “Pip? Pip? It’s time to wake up,” Merry’s voice broke through his remarkably peaceful dreams. He’d been expecting to have one of his usual nightmares, to wake screaming in the middle of the night but obviously having the others so close to him had helped. “We have to leave now.”

                “Go where?” Pippin mumbled, sitting up in the bed and rubbing at his eyes sleepily.

                “I don’t know but as long as it’s far away from those things that we saw last night I don’t really care,” Merry answered, pulling the covers off of the younger hobbit and helping him down from the high bed. Pippin let out a wide yawn, standing still as Merry fixed his cloak around his shoulders.

                “Make sure you have everything you need, we will not be coming back here,” the human’s voce made Pippin yelp and jump around to stare at the man leaning against the door frame.

                “W-We’re going with him?” he all but squeaked.

                “He seems to know what he’s doing and…and he knows about those Ringwraith things,” Frodo explained his decision to trust the human softly, pulling his pack onto his back. Beside him Sam did the same thing, the pans hanging from his own pack clanging loudly.

                “It’s ok, Pip,” Merry reassured his friend, taking the younger hobbits trembling hand in his own. “We won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

                “O-Ok,” Pippin mumbled. “Is…Is there anything to eat for breakfast?”

                “We’ll be stopping for breakfast in an hour or so, Master Hobbit, once we’re far enough away from the town,” the human explained, making Pippin jump once more. “Now we should get going before the rest of the town begins to awaken. If those who reported your presence to the Ringwraiths realise that you are still alive…”

                The four hobbits shuddered in response to his statement and willingly followed him out of the room, Pippin staying close to Merry’s side and clutching at his hand. It turned out that Strider had bought a pony and plenty of supplies for their travels and Sam willingly volunteered to care for the animal, stroking it’s nose as they began their journey.

To the four Halflings it felt like they walked much longer than an hour before they stopped for breakfast, Sam frying some of the sausages and bacon from his pack and making thick sandwiches for all of them from the bread that Strider had bought in the town.

And then after that short respite they set off once more, keeping away from all the roads and the known routes. Strider led the group, followed a little way behind by Frodo and then Merry guiding a reluctant Pippin. Sam and the pony, named Bill by his carer, brought up the rear of the group.

“Where are you taking us?” Frodo eventually asked.

                “Into the wild,” the human answered vaguely, turning into woods they had been walking along the edge of for some time now. Pippin found himself once again trembling with fear and clutching at Merry’s hand, a hand he’d hardly let go of since starting this journey.

                “How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?” Merry asked softly.

                “I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer, but feel fouler,” Frodo answered softly.

                “He’s foul enough,” Merry muttered.

                “We have no choice but to trust him,” Frodo reminded them with a sigh.

                “But where is he leading us?” Sam asked, pulling gently on Bill the pony’s reigns to make the beast keep up with the humans pace. It wasn’t Frodo who answered his question, though; it was the human himself from all the way at the front of the group,

                “To Rivendell, Master Gamgee. To the House of Elrond.”

                “D’you hear that?” Sam gasped, forgetting his worries as he allowed his excitement to take over for a moment. “Rivendell! We’re going to see the elves!”

                Slowly the group made their way through the dense woodland, emerging on the other side just as it began to rain, soaking them to the bone as they continued their journey. The rain slowly eased off as they made their way up a large hill but they were given no respite for by that time the ground was covered in a fresh layer of snow.

                “I’m hungry,” Pippin sighed as they rounded yet another group of snow covered boulders and found themselves in a little clearing of sorts. “Isn’t it time for second breakfast, yet?”

                “I reckon it’s gone past the time for second breakfast,” Merry agreed.

                So the four of them stopped in the little clearing and began gathering what they would need to start a fire, the food they were going to cook and the many cooking utensils they would need. It was at this time that Strider returned to see what had happened to them.

                “Gentlemen! We do not stop ‘til nightfall,” he told them.

                “What about breakfast?” Pippin blurted out before he could stop himself, biting his lips as Striders attention moved to him. The tall man looked confused as he answered,

                “You’re already had it.”

                “W-We’ve had one, yes, but…but what about second breakfast?” Pippin stumbled over his words, his eyes blinking furiously as he forced himself to keep looking at the human.

                Eventually Strider left with a frown on his dirty face.

                “Don’t think he knows about second breakfast, Pip,” Merry sighed sadly.

                “What about elevenses? Luncheon…Afternoon Tea…Dinner…Supper…he knows about them, doesn’t he?” Pippin asked his friend desperately, needing to hold onto some sense of normalcy now that their lives had taken a turn for the worse.

                “I wouldn’t count on it,” Merry muttered, just as a juicy looking apple came flying over the top of a bush. He caught it in his hand with a small smile and handed it over to Pippin, patting him on the shoulder before following the path the human had taken.

                Just then another apple came flying through the air but this one landed on the top of his head, making him yelp in both surprise and pain.

                “Pippin!” Merry called out from the other side of the bush. “Come on!”

                Picking up the other apple he hurried to catch up with the others, taking a huge bite out of the first of the apples, smiling at the rich flavour and the way the juice burst out a spilt down his chin. Merry smiled at him, shaking his head in mock disappointment as Pippin made a loud slurping noise before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and chin.

                Neither of them noticed Strider smiling back at them.

 

~ * ~ * ~

               

                “What do they eat when they can’t get hobbit?” Merry grumbled loudly, swatting at another midge that had decided to take a bite out of him.

For the last two hours the group of travellers had been making their way through some think Marshland, the four hobbits stumbling through the water and trying to stick to the grass hillocks as much as possible. It was alright for Strider, he was a human and had legs long enough to step over all the bumps and dips in the ground.

                Pippin was about to answer his friend when Sam pushed his lightly in an attempt to make him go faster, fearful that the pony was going to get stuck in the marsh if they didn’t move faster. Sadly however the youngest hobbit was unprepared for the contact and stumbled, tripping over a clump of grass and sending him tumbling face down into the water, soaking him from top to bottom.

                “Pippin! Oh, I’m sorry Pippin!” Sam cried out, torn between helping his friend and keeping a hold of the nervous pony’s reigns. “I didn’t mean to push you so hard!”

                “S’ok, Sam, was just an a-accident,” Pippin murmured, shivering from the cold as he attempted to get up. Unfortunately he couldn’t seem to get his footing, the ground under the water was slippery with mud and he ended up just falling back into the water.

                Merry looked back just in time to see Strider walk past him, take hold of Pippin by his upper arms and pulled him up out of the water, setting him back on his feet. Pippin let out a cry of terror, cringing away from the strong hands gripping his thin arms.

                “Oi! Leave him alone!”

                Strider was surprised when he found himself being attacked by one of his charges, receiving a kick to his shins until he released the now whimpering hobbit he’d only been trying to help. Merry immediately abandoned his attack, pulling Pippin into his arms and stroking his damp hair to calm him down. Pippin clung to him, lost in his memories.

                “Calm down, little masters, I meant no harm,” Strider said softly, stepping back in an attempt to seem less threatening to the hobbit currently lost in a panic attack. “I’m sorry if I frightened you, young Master Took, I only wished to help you.”

                “It’s…It’s alright…” Pippin mumbled.

                “We’ll be stopping for the night soon,” Strider told them, “As soon as we find somewhere suitable to set up camp we’ll build a fire and get you warm and dry again.”

                “Th-Thank you…” Pippin mumbled.

                So they walked a little further until they found a clearing the middle of the Marshland just big enough for them to build their camp on.

Strider left them to set up the camp, going off to see if he could catch them some fresh meat.

Frodo and Sam got a fire going and dragged the still wet and pulled shivering Pippin over to it, stripping him of his clothes which Merry took and hung over a nearby tree, hoping that the heat from the fire would dry them out reasonably quickly.

Unfortunately Pippin didn’t have any spare clothes so he was left in just his damp underwear so Merry stripped off his own cloak and wrapped it tightly around his best friend’s body, rubbing his arms and holding him close so that he could share Merry’s body heat.

                Strider returned nearly an hour later with a dead deer slung over his shoulders, by which time Pippin was dozing with his head in Merry’s lap. Frowning at the sight of the hobbit shivering slightly in the cloak, his clothes still drying on the tree, he left it to Frodo and Sam to prepare the deer and opened his own pack.

                “Here,” he said, offering a thick shirt to Merry. “To keep him warm while his own things dry.”

                “Oh, thank you…” Merry murmured, obviously surprised by the kind gesture.

                Turning away to allow them some privacy he listened as Merry coaxed Pippin into putting the shirt on. The youngest hobbit was reluctant at first, mumbling about not wanting to wear something owned by a human but he gave in when Merry pleaded with him, not wanting him to get ill from getting too cold. So Pippin pulled on the large shirt, wearing it like a nightshirt and allowed Merry to wrap the cloak back around his shoulders.

                For some reason these hobbits had a very low opinion of humans, especially Pippin who was obviously afraid of them…terrified even. Something had happened to them to make them distrust his race, something which involved Pippin and some humans.

                Something bad.

                They ate their fill of the delicious stew Frodo and Sam had made, the hobbits having three bowls each whilst Strider was happy with only the one helping.

And then with their hunger satisfied, the hobbits snuggled up together just like they had the night before, Pippin safely surrounded by his friends and using Sam’s chest as a pillow. They also made sure to be on the other side of the fire to their human travelling companion.

                Not long after they fell asleep Strider noticed that Merry had begun to shiver, the only one of the three not wrapped up in a travelling cloak. Rising slowly so as not to wake any of them he checked on the cloak hanging from the tree, finding it still far too damp to be of any use to the little hobbit. Sighing he resigned himself to a cold night and shrugged off his own overcoat, laying it atop the Halflings shivering body.

                “Thank you,” the soft voice startled him and he looked down to find Pippin still awake.

                “You’re welcome,” he murmured softly. “Sleep well, Master Took.”

                Watching as the man returned to his spot on the other side of the fire Pippin found himself thinking about everything that had happened over the last couple of days. Maybe…maybe this human wasn’t like other humans.

He hadn’t tried to…to hurt any of them and so far he’d only tried to help them. When he’d fallen earlier the man hadn’t laughed at him, hadn’t taunted him…he’d helped him, picked him up and put him on his feet. And back in the inn he could have let those…those Ringwraith things kill them but he chose to help them. And now…now he gave up his own coat to help Merry stay warm.

Could it be that…that not all humans were bad?

                Filled with confusion Pippin finally drifted off to sleep, his dreams filled with a confusing rush of memories…memories of humans…of Strider and of Gandalf who he was wary of but reasonably comfortable with and of…and of **those** men…

                _“Hello little boy….why don’t we have some fun?”_

_“N-N-No…please…”_

_“Don’t be like that…we won’t hurt you…too much…”_

_“Please…don’t…don’t…”_

                Pippin woke with a soft cry, his hands clutching at the fabric of Sam’s shirt as his body trembles within the protective circle of his friends arms. Behind him Merry sighed in his sleep, tightening his hold on him and rubbing his cheek against the back of Pippin’s shoulder.

                “Pip?” Frodo’s soft voice came from the other side of Sam. “You ok?”

                “Y-Yes…just…just memories…” Pippin whispered shakily.

                Frodo smiled across at him, his eyes filled with sympathy as he reached out and took one of Pippin’s hands in his own, holding it tightly as his thumb stroked the soft skin soothingly.

                “Wh-What’s that?” Pippin asked suddenly, hearing something strange that disturbed the natural sounds of the night – someone was…singing?

                “It’s Strider,” Frodo answered softly.

                _“Tinúviel elvanui, Elleth alfirin ethelhael, O hon ring finnil fuinui, A renc gelebrin thiliol.”_ ¹

                “What’s he singing about?” Pippin asked with a frown, finding the song strangely beautiful but also extremely sad, despite the fact that he could understand a word of it.

                “A woman…I think. I’ll ask him,” Frodo whispered, sitting up slowly and looking across the fire. Strider was sat with his back to them, gazing up at the stars as he smoked on his pipe. “Who is she? The woman you sing of?”

                “Tis the Lady of Lúthien,” he explained softly, still sitting with his back to them and gazing up at the sky. “The Elf Maiden who gave her love to Beren...a mortal.”

                “What happened to her?” Frodo asked.

                “She died,” he sighed sadly, turning slowly to look back at the hobbits. He saw at once that while Frodo was obviously awake sitting upright beside his friends there was also another pair of eyes blinking at him in the firelight. “Get some sleep, little hobbits. We still have a long way to go.”

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

                “This was the great tower of Amon Sûl,” Strider announced as they paused at the base of a hill on top of which were the ruins of what looked like a temple. The hobbits had been grateful when they’d left the Marshland earlier that day but since then it had been up and down hill after hill after hill and their poor little legs were aching. “We shall rest here tonight.”

                “Not another hill…” Merry groaned as they began yet another ascent.

                Finally the group reached the watch tower, stopping in what used to be a room but now resembled little more than a cave. After tying off the pony as far away from the edge as they could the four hobbits dropped their packs and collapsed to the ground, rubbing at their aching legs and feet. They had never walked so far in their lives!

                “There are for you,” Strider said suddenly, unwrapping a pieces of rough cloth he’d taken from the pack slung over the pony’s back, revealing four small swords which he then proceeded to hand to each of the hobbits. Pippin nearly dropped his when his fingers accidentally touched Striders. “Keep them close, I’m going to have a look round,” he told them as they stared fearfully at the swords they now held. “Stay here.”

                Frodo yawned, stretching his arms above his head as their human guide disappeared back the way they had come. Leaning back against the wall he pulled his cloak tightly around himself and let his eyes flutter closed, needing a few minutes rest.

                “Merry, I’m hungry,” Pippin complained quietly.

                “Yeah, I am too,” Merry agreed, turning to look at Sam. “Is there anything to eat?”

                “Nothing we can eat without cooking it first,” Sam answered as he had a quick look through his pack, setting it aside with a sigh. He was extremely hungry as well, having only had one breakfast and only lunch too keep them going to through the long day.

How did humans survive on so little food?

                “Well…couldn’t we cook something then?” Pippin asked innocently.

                Sam and Merry shared a look, both thinking the same thing and then nodded. Gathering some firewood from around the room they built up a little fire and set about cooking enough food to satisfy the four of them, the delicious smells making the stomach rumble.

                “My tomato’s burst!” Merry complained unhappily as they finally began to tuck in.

                “Can I have some bacon?” Pippin asked softly, holding out his plate.

                “Ok. Want a tomato, Sam?” Merry asked as he carefully transferred a nice looking piece of bacon onto his best friend’s plate. Sam nodded, accepting the tomato with a thankful smile.

                “What are you doing?” Frodo gasped as he woke suddenly.

                “Tomatoes, sausages and some nice crispy bacon,” Merry answered with a smile, gesturing to everything they’d cooked in the large pan. Frodo scrambled to his feet looking ridiculously worried. An uneasy feeling started to settle in the pit of Pippin’s stomach.

                “We saved some for you, Mr Frodo,” Sam said, holding out the fourth plate they’d filled.

                “Put it out you fools!” Frodo cried out, stamping on the fire. “Put it out!”

                “Well that’s nice!” Merry cried out angrily. “That’s nice! Ash on my tomatoes!”

                The four of them froze when they heard the sickeningly familiar screech come from the bottom of the hill, scrambling to edge to peer out into the darkness. Four terrifyingly tall figures dressed in long black robes were visible in the moonlight, seeming to glide up the hill towards them. Frodo was the first to draw his sword, screaming at the others,

                “Go!”

                Pippin couldn’t move. He found himself trembling on the spot, staring down at the giant monsters surging up the hill towards them like the shadows from his nightmares. One of his friends grabbed his arm roughly and yanked, forcing him to run with them.

                They reached the top of the tower, coming to a halt in the centre of a circle of pillars and it wasn’t long before those…those monsters reached them, stepping round the pillars. Each of their steps sounded like metal shaking, each breath they drew was deep and filled with evil.

                They had no faces.

                “I’m sorry…” Pippin gasped. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

                What he was apologising for he didn’t know but he couldn’t make himself stop as the four of them stood facing the evil creatures, their swords shaking in their hands. He couldn’t even remember drawing his and now that it was he had no idea what to do with it.

                One of the Nazgûl stepped apart from the others, advancing on them as he drew his long sword, holding it before his face in some sickening sort of salute. The monsters behind him copied his move, each of them saluting the hobbits as they slowly moved to surround them. As they began to advanced, their moves synchronised, their swords lowered and the points were soon aiming at the hobbits chests as they backed away as much as they could.

                “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

                “Back!” Sam suddenly cried out, rushing foreword with his tiny sword held out in front of him. His three friends could hardly believe their eyes. “Back you devils!”

He took a swipe at the leader of the Nazgûl but he was no match for the monstrous creature who swept him aside easily, sending the brave hobbit crashing into a piece of the ruined watch tower.

Pippin let out a cry of fear as the monsters attention shifted to him and Merry, his hands clutching desperately at his friends arm. The monsters hand reached out towards him, a hand covered in a metal glove, glinting in the moonlight.

                “Pippin!” Merry let out a cry as he was knocked aside just as the hand grabbed him by the front of his waistcoat, lifting him up off his feet…

                _…he hung there helpless in the grip of the man so much bigger than him…_

                “No! Please!” he screamed as the Nazgûl held him there for a long moment, bringing him close to where his face should have been. The terrified hobbit could feel the foul smelling breath of the monster on his cheeks…

                _…the mans breath smelled of strong alcohol as he leaned in close, capturing his lips in a painful, bruising kiss that starved him of his breath and sent his tears tumbling down his cheeks…_

A terrified scream left his mouth as he was thrown roughly to the side, crashing into one of the ruined pillars. Crumpling to the ground he scrambled backwards into the shadows, pulled his knees up to his chests and sobbed uncontrollably, rocking back and forth as he tried to escape the memories the monster had brought to the front of his mind.

                He wasn’t even aware of the horrible things happening before him – he didn’t hear Frodo’s cry of pain nor was he aware of Strider coming to their rescue.

All he could hear was the laughter from long ago…the taunting words…the lewd suggestions…all he could smell was the alcohol…the stench of the men’s sweat…all he could feel were their hands bruising his skin…striking him…squeezing him…and worst of all the pain between his…

                “Pippin?”

                “…please…leave me alone…” he begged, pressing his face deeper into his folded arms.

                “Pippin? It’s me, Merry…”

                “…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” he whimpered, shaking his head as he sobbed uncontrollably.

                “Pippin? It’s ok…”

                He let out a scream as he felt a gentle hand squeezing his shoulder, pressing back against the crumbled wall in the hopes of escaping even such a gentle touch.

                Merry let out a sob at the sight of his friend, looking over his shoulder to see Strider kneeling over Frodo’s fallen form. How could this be happening? Frodo had been stabbed and…and it was bad…he could see it was bad by the look on Strider’s face. Sam was near to tears.

                “Help him, Strider!” the loyal hobbit cried out tearfully.

                “He’s been stabbed by a Morgul blade,” Strider growled seriously, picking up the blade from the ground and watching as it crumbled into dust. Throwing what remained of the blade aside he examined Frodo’s wound. “This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs Elvish medicine.”

                “Pippin…please come back to us,” Merry begged his friend. “We need to leave. Frodo…Frodo needs help…he’s been hurt…”

                “F-Frodo?” Pippin stuttered, the shocking news finally penetrating his tortured thoughts.

                “He was…he was stabbed. He needs help…” Merry explained shakily, looking back once more as Strider picked up their whimpering friend. “We need to leave this place…”

                “I…I can’t move…” Pippin whimpered, his entire body shaking. “I…I…”

                “I’ll help you…” Merry offered softly, holding out his hands to his closest friend. Seeing him like this brought back so many bad memories for himself, memories of how traumatised his friend was for months after that horrible day when they were children. “Come on, we need to gather our things and then we need to get some help for…for Frodo…”

                “We must move quickly,” Strider warned them seriously. “They will return.”

                “Come on, Pippin,” Merry said, slowly taking Pippin’s shaking hands in his own and helping him get to his feet. He held him close to his side as they hurried back to the cave, gathering their things and releasing Bill, the pony.

                The group hurried away from the ruined watch tower, stumbling down the hill and into the thick woods that began on the other side of it. Merry kept Pippin close to him, worried about the fact that Pippin was still sobbing even after they’d been running for nearly an hour.

                He was sure that the screeches of the Nazgûl following them weren’t helping.

                “Hurry!” Strider ordered sharply.

                “It’s six days from Rivendell!” Sam protested tearfully as he tried to get the pony to move faster, remembering what Strider had told them all earlier that day. “He’ll never make it!”

                “I know…” Strider sighed fearfully, cradling the injured hobbit closer to his chest.

                It wasn’t long after that that Frodo became delirious, crying out for Gandalf and for Bilbo, his desperate cries bringing tears to his friend’s eyes…well, more tears in Pippin’s case.

They didn’t stop for another couple of hours, Strider carefully lowering Frodo to the ground at the base of some huge stone trolls. Pippin gazed up at them fearfully, wiping at his eyes as he tried to stop himself sobbing, stop himself shaking…his fear wasn’t helping his friend…

“Look, Frodo. It’s Mr Bilbo’s trolls,” Sam said, forcing his tone to be light.

                Frodo was gasping for breath, his eyes vacant as Sam placed his hand on his forehead.

                “He’s going cold!” he cried out fearfully.

                “Is…Is he going to die?” Pippin asked fearfully, looking up at Strider through his tears. The human was standing between two of the trolls, holding a burning torch his above his head.

Strider looked down at the youngest hobbit in their group, shocked by the state he found the poor young man to be in. What with his worry for the ring bearer he’d barely noticed the state that the others were in but now, looking around at them, he realised he should have been just as worried about them. Especially poor Pippin…

“He’s passing into the Shadow world,” he answered. “He’ll soon become a wraith like them.”

                Frodo gasped loudly just as more screeches were heard through the woodland.

                “They’re close!” Merry gasped fearfully.

                “Sam!” Strider called out. “Do you know the Athelas plant?”

                “Athelas?” Sam repeated the word, confused.

                “Kingsfoil.”

                “Kingsfoil, aye…it’s a weed!” Sam cried out triumphantly.

                “It may help to slow the poison,” Strider explained. “Hurry!”

                “We’ll stay with Frodo,” Merry offered when Sam looked torn between helping Strider search for the weed or staying with his friend. Merry’s offer seemed to reassure him and both he and Strider disappeared into the woods, their eyes fixed on the ground as they searched desperately.

                “I don’t want him to die…” Pippin moaned tearfully.

                “Come and help me keep him warm,” Merry ordered, pulling Pippin over to Frodo and forcing him to lie down beside his friend, mirroring him on Frodo’s other side and snuggling close, offering them what little heat he could take from their bodies.

                Pippin saw the vision first when she arrived at the trolls, his eyes going wide as the woman, literally glowing in the moonlight, slide gracefully down from the back of her white horse. He and Merry scrambled away as she slid down from her horse as graceful as if she were dancing and hurried across to kneel beside their friend.

                _“Frodo Im Arwen. Telin le thaed. Lasto beth nin. Tolo dan na galad.” ²_

                Her voice was beautiful, filled with an ethereal quality that combined with the beautiful language completely captivated the two hobbits who had slowly moved to stand with Sam and their human guide, watching from a distance as the beautiful woman helped their friend.

                “Who is she?” Merry asked softly, looking up at Strider but he didn’t answer. Instead he hurried to their friends side, kneeling opposite the beautiful woman.

                “Frodo…” she called out to their friend as Strider chewed up some of the herbs in his hand.

                “She’s an elf…” Sam answered instead.

                “He’s fading,” she announced, pulling Frodo’s shirt aside to examine the nasty looking wound. Strider carefully applied the herbs he’d chewed up into the oozing wound. Frodo’s cry of pain made them all wince, Pippin grabbing Merry’s hand for support.

                “He’s not going to last,” her voice was filled with worry as she warned Strider, her hands still moving soothingly across their friends chest and brow. “We must get him to my father.”

                Strider nodded, lifting the injured hobbit into his arms once more.

                “I’ve been looking for you for two days,” the beautiful woman told him as he carried Frodo over to her horse. “There are five wraiths behind you – where the other four are I do not know.”

                _“Dartho guin perian. Rych le ad tolthathon,”_ ³ Strider told the woman as he carefully placed their wounded friend onto the horse, taking holding of the reigns as if he were preparing to mount the beautiful animal.

                _“Hon mabathon. Rochon ellint im,”_ ⁴ she said, her voice firmer than before as she placed her hands over Striders on the reigns. By now the poor hobbits were completely confused, looking back and forth between the two people speaking hurriedly in the beautiful yet strange language.

                _“Andelu i ven,”_ ⁵ Strider said with a shake of his head.

                “What are they saying?” Pippin asked worriedly.

                _“Frodo fîr. Ae athradon i hir, tur gwaith nin beriatha hon,”_ ⁶ the beautiful woman told Strider, her voice deadly serious as she finally said something that the hobbits could understand, finishing her sentence in the common tongue, “I do not fear them.”

                _“Be iest lîn,”_ ⁷ their human guise spoke softly, taking her hand in his and holding it for a moment before he stepped out of the way, allowing her smoothly mount her horse with Frodo positioned in front of her. “Ride hard. Don’t look back.”

                _“Noro lim, Asfaloth, noro lim!”_ ⁸ the woman leant forwards, speaking to her horse rather than to anyone else and then the horse was off, galloping faster than Pippin had ever seen a horse move, disappearing into the woods.

                “What are you doing?” Sam cried out in shock. “Those wraiths are still out there!”

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

A/N I decided to end this chapter here because…well because I’m mean and I love a good cliff-hanger even if everyone knows what’s going to happen anyway. LOL. Anyway I hope you’re all enjoying the re-write or, those of you who are reading this for the first time, are just enjoying the story. As with all my stories reviews are always welcome, as are suggestions. I’ll try and get the next chapter up ASAP.

 

~ TRANSLATIONS ~

 

¹ Tinúviel the elven-fair, Immortal maiden elven-wise, About him cast her night-dark hair, And arms like silver glimmering.

² I am Arwen. I have come to help you. Hear my voice. Come back to the light.

³ Stay with the Hobbits. I will send horses back for you.

⁴ I’m the faster rider. I’ll take him.

⁵ The road is too dangerous

⁶ Frodo's dying. If I can get across the river, the power of my people will protect him.

⁷ As you wish.


	2. Chapter Two - Rivendell

Disclaimer: I own nothing…

Summary: Pippin is extremely jumpy around non-hobbit folk, going out of his way to remain un-noticed by them. Sadly that is not possible on the Quest and he finds himself having to trust the people he fears with his life. Will he ever get over the past horrors that haunt his dreams and plague his waking thoughts?

A/N: So many people have reviewed wanting this story to continue but I wrote it so long ago that, for an update to happen, I will have to completely re-write it as my style has changed dramatically. Hopefully you’ll still like the new and improved version.

 

Big People Are Bad – Re-Write

**Warning – Implication of sexual assault of a minor, physical violence and self-harm in this chapter. Please do not read if this would upset you.**

 

Chapter Two – Rivendell

 

                Strider sighed deeply as the exhausted group finally came upon the river that marked the edge of the elven lands. It was flowing much faster than it normally did at this time of year and as such was far too deep and powerful for the hobbits to cross un-aided.

                “I’m afraid that the only way for us to cross the river is for me to carry each of you across,” he told the hobbits, turning his back on the river to gage the Halflings reactions to his statement.

                “What?” Pippin gasped, his entire body beginning to tremble almost instantly.

                “Isn’t there a…a bridge that we can use to cross?” Sam asked logically, his own eyes showing a bit of fear as he gazed past their human guide at the icy water flowing behind him.

                Merry said nothing, only moved to stand closer to Pippin with his hands resting gently on the smaller hobbits shaking shoulders, his thumbs rubbing soothingly over the thick cloth of his cloak.

                “Aye, there is, but it would take us another two days to reach it,” Strider answered softly, his apologetic gaze moving from Sam, who was obviously afraid of the fast flowing water, to Pippin who was sadly more likely to be more afraid of him than the water.

                Judging by the conversations tat he had overheard between the four hobbits on their journey and the way that Pippin hid behind his over-protective friends it was painfully obvious that something had happened to the young hobbit in his past, something which had left him traumatised to the point where he suffered from an irrational (or possibly rational) fear of humans.

                Exactly what had happened to him Strider did not know.

                “If we cross the river here we shall reach Rivendell by nightfall,” he told them.

                “Pip?” Merry asked softly, squeezing his friends shoulders gently. “It’s your choice, Pip.”

                “We should…we should cross the river here…” Pippin made his decision quickly, his voice trembling even worse than his body. The thought of being held by a human…carried by a human, even one who had shown them nothing but kindness, was absolutely terrifying and he knew that he would react badly but…“Frodo…Frodo needs us…”

                “Pip…” Merry began.

                “No…Frodo would do the same if…if the situation was reversed. You know he would. We’ll c-cross here and…and then we can see him by nightfall and make sure that he’s…that he’s ok…” he said, trying to stop his voice from breaking and make himself sound calmer than he really was.

                “If you’re sure, Pip…” this time it was Sam who gave him the chance to change his mind.

                “I’m…I’m sure…”

                Strider studied the shaking hobbit for a moment before nodding and adjusting his sword so that it was strapped to his back rather than about his waist – not only could it get lost in it’s usual position it would also make carrying the hobbits more difficult.

                He ended up taking Merry across first, carrying the tense hobbit across the river. The water was deepest in the middle of the river, soaking both of them from the waist down.

The stones beneath his feet had been worn smooth over time and he stumbled more than once whilst carrying the first hobbit. On his way back he completely lost his footing and ended up getting dunked in the icy water before he could restore his footing.

                “Pippin…” he murmured softly as he approached to hobbit who was stood beside the pony, stroking the animal’s neck with a trembling hand. “I…I know that you have a fear of humans and I know that what is about to happen must terrify you but I promise you – I will never hurt you.”

                “I-I know…” Pippin mumbled. “I’m sorry I…I think I…you’re not like **them** …”

                “No, Pippin, who ever **they** are I promise you I am nothing like them,” Strider murmured softly, crouching down in front of the hobbit and holding his arms out as he would to pick up a child.

                For a long moment Pippin made no move, simply staring at the man with fear filled eyes as he warred with the emotions telling him to run…run and never look back…to get away from the human who would hurt him and…and make him…

                “I can do this…” he muttered to himself, almost angrily and stepped forwards.

                Putting his thin arms around Striders neck he let out an involuntary whimper as the humans arms tightened around his trembling body, picking him up easily as he rose back to his full height. Perched on the human’s hip the hobbit could do nothing but cling to the worn leather of Striders coat as the human began the journey across the river for the second time.

                “It’s all right, Pippin,” Strider murmured reassuringly as he struggled through the fast flowing water, trying not to hold the frightened hobbit too tightly. “Just a little further…”

                “Please…please don’t hurt me…” Pippin whimpered, pressing his face into the humans shoulder as he struggled to keep his past memories from rushing to surface. He could see the mans face…smell the foul stench of his breath…“I’ll be quiet…I promise…”

                “It’s all right, Pippin…no one’s going to hurt you…” Strider promised, his heart aching inside his chest. If he ever found out who had hurt this little hobbit he would personally see to it they never had the opportunity to hurt anyone ever again – he hated to see innocent people suffer. “Nearly there, Pippin…we’re nearly there…”

                Moving as quickly as he could he stumbled up the slippery bank to Merry, ignoring the pain as he dropped down to his knees so that he could pass the terrified hobbit into the arms of his friend as quickly as possible. Stepping back quickly he watched as the slightly taller hobbit cradled his friend in his arms, rubbing his back soothingly as Pippin buried his face in his shoulder.

                “Shh…Pip, it’s ok…” Merry murmured against Pippin’s messy hair. “It’s ok…”

                “Merry…” the traumatised hobbit whimpered, clutching at his friend. “I want to go home…”

                “Soon, Pip…” Merry promised, tightening his arms around his friend as he subconsciously began to rock from side to side, his hands rubbing up and down in a soothing manner. “We’ll be going home as soon as…as soon as Frodo’s well enough…well enough to travel…”

                “M’sorry for being so much trouble, Merry…” Pippin mumbled sadly. “M’sorry…”

                “Oh, Pip…” Merry sighed deeply, pulling back so that he could meet his friend’s troubled gaze. Thankfully his hysterics seemed to be coming to an end but now of course they’d reached the guilt that always followed. “You’re not trouble…you’re my best friend.”

                Strider collected Sam and the pony from the other side of the river in silence, his thoughts plagued with horrifying theories of what could have been done to traumatise the littlest hobbit so much. It made him feel sick, to think of such an innocent being as he must have been being scarred so much by events undoubtedly out of his control that…

                “M-Mr Strider?” Sam’s quiet voice broke through his frantic thoughts, drawing his attention back to the hobbit held securely into his arms. “We’ve reached the others so…so you can…um…you can put me down now…”

                “Oh, of course…my apologies, Master Gamgee.”

                Setting the Hobbit down on the ground he gave the three Halflings time to sort out their rumpled clothing and to adjust their packs before they set off again, heading through the familiar woods as the sun began to move swiftly across the sky.

                As they walked Strider found his gaze returning to the littlest Hobbit again and again.

                Pippin all but clung to his friends, his hands clutching at the fabric of their shirts as the three of them stumbled between the tree roots that littered their path. His skin was practically ashen, his naturally rosy cheeks nowhere to be seen and more than once Strider watched as he used the crook of his elbow to dry his tears before they could fall.

                It was almost dark when they finally came within sight of Rivendell.

                “Oh…” Pippin gasped, his eyes going wide as he gazed up at the beautiful structures built into the side of the mountain, the delicate looking buildings built on top of natural outcroppings of rock, some of them even traversing waterfalls and each of them weaving between the ancient trees instead of cutting them down. “It’s beautiful…”

                The torches were just being lit, an ethereal glow flooding out of the many windows and casting light out onto the narrow bridge that allowed the weary travellers to enter the elven city.

                “It doesn’t look very safe…” Sam muttered solemnly, clutching the ponies lead rope as he made his way ever so slowly across the bridge, his eyes darting nervously from one side of the bridge to the other. “No, no, give me a lovely hobbit hole any day…”

                Strider smiled.

                The weary group were met on the far side of the bridge by a dark haired elf dressed in a floor length robe made of the finest purple silk Pippin had ever seen.

                Was this the Lord of Rivendell?

                “Lindir!”

                “Welcome home, Estel,” the elf spoke, his voice soft and lilting, almost as though he were singing every word. “Lord Elrond is with his patient.”

                “Frodo?” Sam piped up eagerly. “How is he? Can we see him?”

                “He is resting,” the elf, Lindir, answered offering each of the worried hobbits a reassuring smile before turning his attention back to their human guide. “He was brought to our Halls of Healing just in time and my Lord Elrond was able to save him from falling into darkness.”

                Pippin let out the breath the he hadn’t even realised he was holding, turning his head to smile at Merry who was positively beaming, running a hand through his already messy hair.

                Sam on the other hand seemed to literally sag with relief, leaning heavily on their tired pony.

                “Can we see him?” he repeated his earlier question breathlessly.

                Lindir smiled.

                “Once you have received nourishment and a hot bath, yes.”

                Food.

                Pippin felt his stomach give an embarrassingly loud rumble, his face heat up instantly.

                Surviving on only three meals a day rather than his usual seven had left the youngest hobbit with a perpetual ache in his belly and in their haste to follow Frodo they had survived on even less.

                He didn’t think he’d ever been hungrier than he was at that moment.

                “Please, follow me.”

                Strider led the way, calmly following the ethereal figure up the stone staircase and leaving the hobbits to follow them once Sam had been relieved of the ponies lead rope, their footsteps quick and light as they struggled to keep up with the others big steps.

                They were led through a maze of corridors, each of them possessing a beauty and an openness that none of the hobbits had ever seen before and filled with delicate pieces of artwork ranging from life size statues to detailed paintings that took up an entire wall.

                As they stepped into what turned out to be a large dining hall Pippin felt his empty stomach churn with something far worse than hunger;

                Fear.

                Several long tables dominated most of the room, each of them bustling with activity as the population of the elven city dined together.

                “Merry…” he whimpered, his hands reaching out to clutch at his friends arm.

                “S’ok, Pip…” his friend responded softly as they were led to the end of one of the long tables where a meal was being laid out for them by a beautiful elven maiden, three soft looking pillows resting on the long benches. “I don’t think the elves will hurt us…”

                “They’re still big…” Pippin found himself muttering as he climbed up onto the stool.

                “Everyone’s bigger than you, Pip,” Merry chuckled, trying to lighten his friend’s mood with a little bit of friendly teasing as he took his seat beside him. “Even Frodo.”

                Pippin smiled despite himself.

                “And look, Pip – mushrooms!” Merry laughed, moving on to the age old distraction technique of food, picking up the decorative plate filled with the delicious treat and using his fork to spread them out equally between their plates.

                “Hey! What if I wanted some of those?!” Sam protested from the other side of the table.

                Merry laughed.

                Apologising brightly he scooped some of the delicious looking mushrooms back onto the decorative plate from his own plate, pushing it across the large table towards his friend before looking up at the elf who had escorted them into the room and asked brightly,

                “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a pint, is there?”

                Lindir flinched.

                “…a pint?” he asked, his lip curling with barely concealed distaste.

                Strider let out a loud booming laugh.

                “A pint of beer, my friend,” he explained before turning his gaze towards the young hobbit who had made the bold request. “I’m afraid that our elvish friends do not drink beer, young master hobbit,” he explained. “However I can highly recommend their wine.”

                No beer?

                Pippin could hardly believe what he was hearing, after all _everyone_ drunk beer.

                It was up to Merry and Sam to keep their conversation going through the meal, answering questions posed them by Strider and the elves sat beside them as Pippin retreated into himself, focusing on his food and staying away from the wine after taking only one tentative sip.

                After the meal had finished, its conclusion being the most delicious fruit crumble that Pippin had ever tasted, the four travellers were led through even more of the beautiful building until they came to a large room split off into private sections by curtains that were practically see through.

                Inside each of these private sections was a bath, four of which were filled and steaming.

                Pippin whimpered.

                “I’ll take the one nearest the door,” Strider spoke up, his voice little more than a rumble as he moved towards the bath in question already working at the laces of his tunic.

                “Come on, Pip,” Merry cried with too much enthusiasm for it to be genuine, pulling the trembling young hobbit to the bath furthest away. “We can share if you’d like.”

                “Oh…yes…yes, please…” Pippin mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck as he watched his friend pull the curtain shut behind them. “I don’t…I don’t want…”

                “It’s not like we’ll have trouble fitting anyway, will we?” Merry continued brightly, stripping off his jacket and dropping it carelessly to the floor before pulling his braces off his shoulders. “I mean that baths got to be twice as big as the ones we have back home…”

                Nodding shakily Pippin turned away from his friend, facing the wall as he began to ever so slowly remove his soiled travelling clothes, dropping each item into a pile on the floor as he revealed his creamy white skin to his oldest friend, marred by more scars than Merry had ever wanted to see.

                The worst thing was he could tell some of them weren’t from the…incident…

                He was however relieved to see that there weren’t any that could be called fresh wounds.

                “Come on, Pip!” he forced himself to laugh brightly, turning away from the canvas of scars so that he could jump into the large bathtub which of course sent a tidal wave of water splashing over the edge and onto the tiled floor. “You don’t want the water to get cold, do you?”

                To begin with their simply lay back against the opposite end of the tub, their heads tilted back as they allowed their tired bodies to truly relax, arms resting against the sides of the tub while their legs tangled together under the steaming water.

                Neither could recall which one of them splashed the other first.

                By the time an all-out war had broken out between them, their laughter echoing loudly throughout the previously silent chamber neither of them could find it in themselves to care.

                It was the first time Strider had ever heard the youngest hobbit laugh.

               Once they were suitably clean (and the room was thoroughly soaked) the hobbits dressed in the clothes that had mysteriously appeared on one of the stools nearest the curtain.

                “If you leave your things where they are we will have them washed and returned to you,” Lindir spoke softly as they emerged into the main chamber of the room, all three hobbits tugging absentmindedly at the fabric around their necks.

                “Can we see Mr Frodo now?” Sam asked eagerly, pushing his damp curls out of his eyes causing them to stick somewhat comically to his forehead.

                He didn’t care.

                He only cared about seeing Frodo.

                Lindir nodded before turning silently and leading them back out of the room.

                It turned out that Frodo was being cared for in a very nice room indeed, clearly intended for some important visitor with its luxurious furniture (including the biggest bed any of them had ever seen) and its own private balcony looking down onto the valley.

                “Mr Frodo!”

                Hurrying over to the closest side of the bed the three hobbits huddled close together, each of them reaching out to ever-so-gently touch their friend’s prone body.

                “He’s warm…” Sam breathed, relief evident in his voice. “Is he…is he going to be all right?”

                “Your friend will make a full recovery,” a deep voice spoke from the balcony, causing all three of them to look up from their friend as a dark haired elf stepped into the room. “However I fear that his wound may trouble him for the rest of his days.”

                Sam nodded.

                “I guess a troublesome wound is better than a fatal one…” the worried hobbit murmured pragmatically as he returned his attention his friend. “Oh…Mr Frodo…”

                Pippin couldn’t move.

                His body was locked in place, his gaze firmly fixed on the figure who moved to stand beside their human companion on the other side of the large bed, murmuring softly to their human companion in the gently language of the elves before turning his attention back to the hobbits.

                A whimper burst out from his lips as he suddenly found his gaze locked with a pair of deep blue eyes, trapping him in place as they seemed to gaze deep into his very soul.

                His body began to tremble.

                _“I’ve never had a hobbit before…”_

_“Please…don’t…”_

_“Let’s see what those pretty little clothes of yours are hiding…”_

_“No…please…stop…”_

His hands moved of their own accord, gripping the sheet that covered his friends sleeping form so tightly that his knuckles turned white and his nails began to tear the delicate fabric.

                “Pip?”

                He barely registered the sound of his friend’s voice, the piercing blue eyes keeping him locked in the past, each detail as vivid as if it were happening all over again.

                _…a hand squeezed around his pale throat, cutting off his air supply before he could scream…_

                He gasped, choking loudly as he felt his throat close up.

                Desperately he tried to pull his gaze away from the piercing blue eyes burning deep into his soul, his body trembling almost violently as he found himself still unable to move.

                Why couldn’t he move?

                _…hands…too many hands…tearing his clothes from his struggling body…_

“Pip!”

                Tears flooded down his cheeks as someone finally pulled him away from those yes, turning his body so that he was pressed against a familiar chest, his head coming to rest on Merry’s shoulder.

                “Pip, it’s all right…” Merry murmured reassuringly, rubbing his back. “Frodo’s going to be ok.”

                Nodding against his friends shoulder the young hobbit decided to pretend that it had been his worry for Frodo that had reduced him to a tearful wreck and nothing more.

                He was already such a burden.

                He didn’t want to make things worse.

                “Sorry…” he murmured, hiding his face in his friends shoulder. “I was just…w-worried…”

                Strider cleared his throat making Pippin jump slightly.

                Oh…

                He wanted to go home…

                He wanted to be surrounded by hobbit sized people once more…

                He wanted to feel safe again…

                “I don’t…” Sam gasped weakly, his voice shaking more and more as he gazed tearfully up at the striking figure who had helped his friend. “I don’t know how we can ever repay you for…for your kindness…and…and I don’t even know your name…”

                The elf offered him a comforting smiled.

                “My name is Elrond, young master hobbit, and I am the Lord of this land,” he offered softly, his smile growing as each of the hobbits shot him a shocked look. Obviously they hadn’t realised they were addressing a Lord. “And the recovery of your friend is the only repayment I require.”

                “I…I…thank you…thank you…Lord Elrond…” Sam stuttered, a light flush staining his cheeks as his gaze became something akin to hero worship as he gazed up at the Elven Lord. “Thank you.”

                “You are welcome, Master…?”

                “Gamgee, Samwise Gamgee. Sam,” Sam offered his name up eagerly, his hands fluttering nervously across his friend’s chest as he continued softly. “And this…this is Frodo Baggins.”

                Lord Elrond turned his gaze to the other two hobbits.

                “Merry…er…Meriadoc, Meriadoc Brandybuck,” the taller of the two introduced himself, his hands continuing to move comfortingly across his friends back as he held him close to his body. “And this is Pip…er…Pippin…I mean Peregrin, Peregrin Took.”

                Pippin found himself clutching at his friends shirt as he heard the introductions taking place.

                “I hope you will all be very comfortable during your time with,” Lord Elrond murmured, offering each of the hobbits a pleasant smile. “Now before you retire for the night I’d like to examine each of you to make sure that you are all in good health after your journey.”

                No…

                Pippin felt himself begin to tremble.

                No…

                He couldn’t…

                He wouldn’t…

                “We’re fine.”

                Merry’s voice was somewhat sharp as he looked up at the elven Lord.  

                “We’re just tired,” he continued, his voice softening even as his arms tightened around Pippin. “No need to trouble yourself…nothing a comfy bed won’t cure, isn’t that right, Sam?”

                “Aye.”

                Elrond frowned down at the three hobbits, noting how the older two were discretely trying to keep the youngest between them as though they could sense danger in the room.

                “If you are certain…”

                Merry nodded firmly.

                “We’re fine,” Sam murmured, resting his hand on Pippin’s shoulder. “Just tired.”

                Elrond’s frown deepened further and he would have pressed the matter were it not for the look Strider sent him warning him to remain silent for the moment.

                “In that case I’ll have Lindir show you to your rooms,” he said instead after a long moment of silence, keeping his voice soft as he offered them a somewhat forced smile.

                All three of them seemed to sag with obvious relief.

                Each of them bid goodnight to their friend, leaning down to give his prone body a gentle hug before following the younger elf out of the room, the youngest firmly wedged between the older two.

                “What was that about?” Elrond asked once they were gone, turning to face Strider.

                “I don’t know,” Strider admitted. “Something has happened to Pippin, the youngest, to make him deathly afraid of what he calls _big people._ I don’t know what, none of them have spoken about it but his friends are obviously very protective of him.”

                Elrond sighed sadly.

                “I had feared as much,” he admitted softly, moving to rest his hand on his patient’s clammy forehead. “His eyes held too much grief and sadness for one so young.”

               

~ * ~ * ~

 

                _“Come on, Pip!” fourteen-year-old Merry called out, laughing as the smallest of the group struggled to keep up with his friends as they ran through the field of corn. “Last one there is an orc!”_

_This was a game they had played many times before, fighting their way through the unbelievably high corn to be the first to reach the river on the other side. They’d built their den by that river, hidden in the roots of one of the giant trees whose branches stretched right the way across to the other side. It was such a hot day that Pippin couldn’t wait to use the rope swing they’d built to launch himself through the air and into the cool water._

_His foot caught on something and he let out a cry of shock as he face planted in the dirt. Whimpering in pain he pushed himself up onto his knees, wincing as he found out that his hands were badly grazed and bleeding from trying to break his fall. He could taste blood in his mouth._

_“Pippin!” the startled voice came from the direction he had been running in and he looked up to find his closest friend, Merimac Sandyman hurrying towards him. “Are you ok? What happened?”_

_“I tripped over something,” Pippin mumbled, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth._

_“Tripped over what?” Merimac asked with a frown, looking at the ground behind Pippin._

_There was nothing there for his friend to have tripped over, no stones, no holes in the dirt…_

_“What’s this?” a deep voice startled both of them, their eyes going wide as they stared up at the human man who had just emerged from the corn. “A couple of hobbit babies?”_

_“I’m not a baby!” Merimac shouted up at him angrily._

_“Did you trip me?” Pippin demanded, glaring up at the man._

_“Oh, we’ve got ourselves a couple of lively ones, boys,” the man laughed deeply, looking back over his shoulder as four more men emerged from the corn. Pippin began to tremble on the ground, forgetting his injured hands as he grabbed hold of Merimac’s. “Should be fun…”_

_“We…we should be going…” Pippin mumbled as the group of men laughed down at them, struggling to his feet and pulling Merimac up with him. “Our friends will be wondering…”_

_“Shut up, boy!” the first man snapped suddenly, striking out with the back of his hand and sending Pippin’s head snapping to the side. Merimac screamed loudly as his friend was hit, catching him as the smaller hobbit stumbled into him. “Shut that one up!”_

_A large hand clamped around Merimac’s face, pressing down across his mouth to shut him up and yanking him back so that his small body was pressed up against the mans. Pippin turned, trying to pull the mans hands off of his friend and let out his own scream when he was grabbed by the front of his shirt and dragged up against the first mans body._

_“My, but you’re a pretty little thing…” the man leered down at him._

_“Pip? Mac?” Merry’s voice called out moments before their friends came running up to them, coming to a quick stop when they saw the men holding them. Frodo and Sam, the eldest of their friends, grabbed hold of Merry to stop him from hurrying over to his best friends. “Who are you?”_

_“Grab them!” the first man bellowed angrily at his friends._

_“Run, Merry! Run!” Pippin screamed, earning himself another hard slap about his face even as he was held close to the mans chest, his legs dangling in the air._

_“Pip!” Merry screamed, for a moment making no move but then he turned, following Sam and Frodo as they raced away to get help for their friends. Two of the humans gave chase but returned shortly, grumbling angrily that the little bastards had gotten away from them._

_“Damn!” the first man growled angrily, actually shaking Pippin. “They’ll fetch their fathers. We’ll have to get out of here. Now.”_

_“What about our fun?” one of the other men grumbled._

_“We could take them with us,” another one of them suggested, reaching down to pet Merimac’s light brown curls. In the brilliant sunlight the small hobbits hair looked almost golden, something he’d often been teased about as it made him look more than a little bit feminine. “I can think of plenty of fun we can have with these two back home…”_

_“Aye,” the first one nodded, lifting Pippin up even higher so that their faces were in line. “We can have plenty of fun, can’t we, little one?”_

_“N-No…please…let us go…” Pippin begged tearfully._

_“Never, my little one…” the man promised darkly, pulling Pippin forward suddenly so that he could press his foul smelling lips to Pippin’s trembling ones. Pippin let out a scream of fear, muffled by the harsh lips bruising his own…_

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

                Pippin could feel their eyes on him.

                Everywhere he turned there was an elf watching him with concern in their eyes and more than one of them actually tried to approach him, enquiring about how he had slept.

                They must have heard him scream when he woke up from his usual nightmare.

                “Don’t worry about them, Pip,” Merry murmured softly as they explored the city hand in hand, running his thumb soothingly over the back of Pippins hand. “We’ll be going home soon.”

                “Not…not a moment too soon,” Pippin mumbled as another sympathetic elf smiled their way, dipping her head when their eyes met briefly. “I…I don’t trust people who…who smile so much.”

                Two days later Frodo finally woke up and they were one step closer to going home.

                Or so they thought…

 

A/N I’d like to apologise for the delay in this chapter. I’ve actually had most of this chapter written for quite a while now but I couldn’t get the flow right and then the story kind of ended up on the back burner whilst I worked on a couple of my other stories. I’m going to try and complete this one but I’m going to warn you now it is going to take time. Comments/Suggestions are always welcome. X


	3. Chapter Three - The Journey Begins

Disclaimer: I own nothing…

Summary: Pippin is extremely jumpy around non-hobbit folk, going out of his way to remain un-noticed by them. Sadly that is not possible on the Quest and he finds himself having to trust the people he fears with his life. Will he ever get over the past horrors that haunt his dreams and plague his waking thoughts?

A/N: So many people have reviewed wanting this story to continue but I wrote it so long ago that, for an update to happen, I will have to completely re-write it as my style has changed dramatically. Hopefully you’ll still like the new and improved version.

 

Big People Are Bad – Re-Write

Chapter Three – The Journey Begins 

 

                “I…I don’t think we should be doing this…” Pippin mumbled, struggling to control his breathing as he and Merry hurried along the delicate hallways of the elven city, following the path that their two friends had taken only a few moments before. “Merry…”

                Frodo had walked these steps first having been collected by Gandalf in order to attend an “important meetings” to which the other three hobbits had not been invited.

                Sam had followed only moments later.

                “Mr Frodo’s not going to no meeting without me,” he’d announced within moments of the door swinging shut behind the wizard and his hobbit companion. “Not again…”

                And then it had been Merry who decided that they weren’t going to be left behind either.

                Lost in his own thoughts he ran smack into his best friends back when the slightly taller hobbit came to an abrupt halt upon rounding a corner, the gathering their friend had been brought to already settling down into a large circle of seats on one of the elven cities secluded balconies.

                There was no sign of Sam.

                “Come on,” Merry muttered, taking his hand and pulling him along so that they could hide behind a couple of pillars within hearing distance of the large group. “We can watch from here.”

                Pippin barely heard him.

                His wide eyes were frantically moving from face to face of each and every person now sitting in that large circle, almost all of which he could see as clear as day thanks to their hiding place.

                “Strangers from distant lands, friends of old.  You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor,” their host, Lord Elrond, addressed the gathering from where he was stood in front of his decorative seat which had been place in front of one of the terrifyingly large trees dotted around the elven city. “Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction.  None can escape it.”

                Lindir, his scribe who had been so kind to them for the duration of their stay, was sat to Lord Elrond’s left while Erestor, his almost completely silent advisor sat on his right.

                “You will unite or you will fall.  Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom,” Elrond continued, extending his left hand towards where their friend was sat beside Gandalf looking ridiculously small thanks to the elven sized chair. “Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”

                Pippin’s gaze should have tracked his friends movements as he rose from his seat and made his way to the stone plinth in the centre of the gathering but his eyes were still glued to the unfamiliar faces of the people gathered on the secluded balcony.

                Sitting on Gandalf’s other side were three elves, all of whom had long blonde hair and wore clothes of light brown and green colours, their expressions almost cold in a deadly serious way.

                “So it’s true…”

                Pippin felt his breath seize in his chest at the horrifying familiar voice.

                _“So it’s true…” the deep voice breathed almost in wonderment as Pippin and Mac, both of whom were completely naked and covered in cuts and bruises from their earlier treatment. “When they said you had something new to play with I had no idea…”_

_“You want a taste?”_

_Pippin reached out for his friend, clutching their hands together as the new man stepped close to them and began tracing his large hand over their bodies, focusing mainly on their…_

“In a dream I saw the Eastern sky grow dark,” the unfamiliar voice dragged him out of his tortured memories, the owner of the voice rising slowly from his seat in an unthreatening manner that still hand Pippin clutching at the pillar in terror. “In the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying, your doom is near at hand. Isildur's bane is found.”

                Pippin watched as the man reached out to whatever Frodo had placed on the plinth.

                “Isildur’s bane…”

                Elrond jumped to his feet, a look of concern on his face as he cried out deeply,

                “Boromir!”

                However it wasn’t the elven lords voice that sent Pippin crashing down to his knees, hands pressed over his ears as tears leaked down his cheeks, mouth open wide in a silent scream.

                “ _Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul,_ ” Gandalf’s voice had morphed into something completely different, something evil and dark that matched the way the sky had inexplicably darkened above them. “ _Ash nazg thrakatulûk_ , _agh burzum-ishi krimpatul._ ”                 “Pip!” Merry hissed, obviously desperate to comfort his friend but unable to move for fear of drawing attention to themselves and giving away their unauthorised presence at the meeting.

                “Never before has anyone uttered words of that tongue here in Imladris,” Elrond announced as the sky above them began to clear, a warm breeze rustling through the leaves as the man now identified as Boromir slowly returned to his seat, obviously stunned.

                Pippin, however, was still trapped on his knees although his shaking hands lowered down into his lap, his eyes fixating on the trembling fingers covered in minutes scars.

                “I do not ask your pardon Master Elrond for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West,” Gandalf’s voice was normal once more. “The Ring is altogether evil.”

                “Pip?” Merry hissed once more. “Pip?!”

                “M’ok…” Pippin managed to responded, leaning his head against the pillar. “M’ok…”

                “Nay, it is a gift!” Boromir spoke up once more, his deep voice sending a shiver up and down Pippin’s spine as he rose from his seat once more, this time beginning to pace around the plinth, glancing back and forth between it and his audience. “A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the _blood_ of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy, let us use it against him.”

                “You cannot wield it. None of us can,” Strider interrupted the other human from his seat closest to where Merry and Pippin were hiding, his familiar voice actually serving to reassure the terrified hobbit for a moment. “The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.”                 “And what would a ranger know of this matter?”

                Pippin did not like the tone of voice Boromir used to address the other human male.

                It reminded him of…of the man who…who had…

                _“How much for the little one?”_

_“He’s not for sale.”_

_“What about the other one? How much for him?”_

_“How much are you offering?”_

                “This is no mere ranger,” the powerful voice of one of the blonde elves pulled him from his tortured memories, drawing his attention to the strikingly beautiful elf who had risen from his seat and was now staring down Boromir. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn.”

                Boromir wasn’t the only one to frown and look across at Strider.

                “You owe him your allegiance.”

                “Aragorn,” Boromir scoffed loudly. “This is Isildur’s heir…”

                “…and heir to the throne of Gondor,” the blonde elf concluded even as Strider obviously ducked his head in an effort to hide from the attention he was now receiving.

                Pippin could understand why.

                He was a…what…a…a Prince…a King?

                “ _Havo dad_ , Legolas,” Strider murmured, gesturing towards the else with his hand.

                “Gondor has no King,” Boromir scoffed as he returned to his seat. “Gondor needs no King.”

                Using the pillar to support himself Pippin slowly pulled himself back up to his feet, continuing to lean against the smooth service of the pillar as he wiped the remains of his tears from his cheeks.

                “Aragorn is right,” Gandalf sighed deeply. “We cannot use it.”

                “You have only one choice,” Elrond announced gravely. “The Ring must be destroyed.”

                Pippin frowned, sharing a confused look with Merry.

                A ring?

                All of this had happened because of a ring?

                “Then what are we waiting for?”

                It was one of the dwarves that had spoken this time and Pippin watched in shock as the stocky figure with an extreme amount of both head and facial hair who was only a fraction taller than the tallest of hobbits jumped up from his seat and brought his axe down on the top of the plinth.

                Pippin’s gasped in shock as the dwarf was thrown backwards by an invisible force, his axe shattering on impact with the innocent looking ring Pippin could now see sitting on top of the plinth.

                “The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess,” Elrond announced as the gathering began to regain their previous positions. “It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came.”

                “Frodo…” Merry gasped softly, drawing Pippin’s attention across to their friend who was slumped in his seat, one hand pressed to his forehead as he stared across at the ring. “Pip…”

                “Somethings wrong,” Pippin gasped, his body shuddering violently as he reacted to his friends obvious pain in such close proximity to the gathering of _big people_. “I don’t…”

                “One of you must do this,” Elrond finished firmly.

                He was met with silence for a long moment but eventually Boromir spoke up.

                “One does not simply walk into Mordor,” he announced gravely, rubbing a hand over his face. “Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep and the great eye is ever watchful. Tis a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume.  Not with ten thousand men could you do this.”

                Here the man sighed deeply, shaking his head.

                “It is folly…”

                “Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?” Legolas, the same elf as before demanded, jumping to his feet as he glared across at the man slumped in his seat. “The Ring must be destroyed!”

                Pippin couldn’t help but flinch in response to the raised voices.

                “And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it?”

                This demand came from Gimli, the dwarf who had shattered his axe only moments earlier.

                “And if we fail what then?” Boromir demanded sharply, rising to his feet and glaring across at the elf who had challenged him. “What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?

                “I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!”

                That was all it took for a full blown argument to break out amongst those present, almost all of them jumping to their feet as one as they laid into each other with their words.

                “Never trust an elf!”

                Pippin turned away from them, burying his face in his hands as he leaned his front against the pillar, whimpering softly under his breath even as Gandalf’s raised voice joined the rest.

                “Do you not understand that while we bicker amongst ourselves, Sauron's power grows?!” the wizard demanded angrily. “None can escape it! You'll all be destroyed!”                 “Pip!” Merry gasped, hurrying across to take his friend into his arms, encouraging the trembling figure to bury his head into Merry’s shoulder. “I’m here, Pip. I’m here…”

                Thankfully it wasn’t his soft voice which finally ended the loud argument.

                It was Frodo’s.

                “I will take it,” their friend announced as clearly as he could, stepping away from his seat and looking up at the large crowd who slowly turned to stare at him, finally silent. “I will take the Ring to Mordor…though I do not know the way…”

                Gandalf sighed deeply.

                “I will help you bear this burden Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear.”

                Strider, who had remained quiet for the duration of the argument stepped forwards next.

                “If by my life or death I can protect you, I will,” he vowed sincerely, moving across the balcony to kneel before Frodo, looking up into their friend’s eyes. “You have my sword.”

                “And you have my bow,” Legolas announced, moving to stand beside Gandalf behind their friend even as Strider climbed back his feet, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

                “And my axe,” Gimli vowed as he stepped forwards, much to elves obvious displeasure.

                Pippin’s trembling increased as he pulled away from his friend, staring across at Frodo with pure terror glistening in his impossibly wide eyes as he began shaking his head.

                “No…” he whimpered. “Frodo…Frodo can’t go with them…not alone…it’s not safe…”

                Merry grimaced, trying to pull his panicking friend back into his arms.

                “You carry the fate of us all little one,” Boromir murmured softly, Pippin’s voice literally convulsing in response to the threatening nature he seemed to naturally possess as the man in question slowly made his way across to the slowly growing group of volunteers. “If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done.”

                “No…” Pippin gasped deeply. “No…”

                “Hey!” Sam’s familiar voice burst out of nowhere just as he appeared from where he had been hiding on the other side of the balcony inside a large bush, rushing across to stand shoulder to shoulder with Frodo. “Mr Frodo’s not going anywhere without me.”

                “No indeed it is hardly possible to separate you,” Lord Elrond murmured with a seemingly genuine smile for the hobbit. “Even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not!”

                “They can’t!” Pippin gasped loudly. “They…they can’t…”

                “Pip, we need to go with them,” Merry hissed quickly, looking back and forth between his traumatised friend and the odd group of volunteers. “We can’t let them go on their own.”

                “I…I…”

                “Wait!” Merry called out loudly, taking Pippin’s hand once more and pulling him out from their hiding place so that they could hurry over to join the others. “We’re coming too!”

                Pippin couldn’t breathe, especially not as he ended up stood in front of Boromir.

                “You’d have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!”

                Gimli, the dwarf who had volunteered only moments before, moved to stand on Pippin’s other side, their arms brushing together just enough to freak Pippin out enough to send him stumbling into Merry’s side in his haste to move away from the imposing figure.

                “Isn’t that right, Pip?”

                …what?

                “Where Frodo and Sam go, we go, isn’t that right, Pip?” Merry pressed on, his hand finding Pippin’s and linking their fingers together reassuringly. “We stick together, don’t we? Always.”

                He didn’t want to do this…

                He really didn’t want to do this…

                But Merry was right, ever since _that day_ the four friends had always stuck together.

                “R-Right…” he was finally able to mumble, his eyes dropping to the floor beneath his feet. “Anyway, you…you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission…quest…thing…”

                Merry snorted softly, squeezing his friend’s hand reassuringly as he teased him softly,

                “Well that rules you out then, Pip…”

                Lord Elrond sighed deeply, studying each face in turn before fixating on the trembling figure right at the front of the group who had been at forefront of his mind since he and his companions had arrived, his nervous behaviour and hesitant nature filling the kind hearted elf with concern.

                “Nine companions,” he finally announced, “So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!”

                “G-Great!” Pippin found himself exclaiming to cover his nervousness. “Where are we going?”

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

_Darkness…_

_Tiny flecks of light flickering just out of reach…_

_Muffled sounds…_

_“…couple of little ones…”_

_Hands grabbing him by his arms, lifting him up off of the hard surface he had been lying on for hours, carrying him through the air into someplace warm…_

_Too warm…_

_“…let’s see that pretty little face of yours…”_

_Light._

_In one swift move the rough sacking material which had been used to cover his face for the majority of the short journey “into town” was removed and he found himself staring up into three unfamiliar faces and one unfortunately familiar face – the face of the man who had grabbed him._

_“Well aren’t you a pretty little thing,” one of the unfamiliar men said, reaching down to run his fat fingers through Pippin’s hair for a few minutes before taking a firm hold and tilting Pippin’s head backwards. “Nice eyes. Good bone structure. Let me see those teeth, boy.”_

_Fingers were jabbed into the side of his mouth, forcing his mouth open._

_“Nice.”_

_“I don’t care about his teeth,” one of the other men snapped. “Strip him. And the other one.”_

_Hands…_

_Everywhere…_

_“P-Pip?”_

_Fingers, trembling with fear, linking with his…_

_“M-Mac?”_

_Hands…_

_Touching his body…_

_Stroking his skin…_

_Fondling his…_

_Pressing against…_

_“N-No…”_

_Laughter…_

_Hands on his arms once more, picking him up so roughly that he cried out in shock until rough lips pressed against his reduced his cries to pathetic little whimpers and murmurs._

_Still Merrimac never let go of his hand._

_“I’ll take both of this one off your hands…”_

_Coins swapping hands…_

_“And the other?”_

_“Too skinny for my taste…”_

_A scream…_

_Not his own…_

_Holding tightly onto Merrimac’s hand…_

_Rough hands pulling him away from his friend…_

_A scream…_

_His…_

_Struggling…_

_Straining…_

_A hand on his wrist…_

_Pain…_

_“Come on, my pretty little thing…”_

_His hand was empty…_

_Cold air…_

_Rough sheets against his skin…_

_Pain…_

_Pain…_

_Pain…_

~ * ~ * ~

 

                “Pippin!”

                Sucking in a sharp lungful of air, cutting off the scream he’d been letting out, his eyes snapped open to meet the familiar blue orbs of his best friend, filled with worry and pain.

                “It’s ok…” Merry whispered, gathering Pippin into his arms as he always did, holding him close and rocking him back and forth as he slowly came back to himself, his small body shaking through the after effects of his nightmare-come-memory. “I’m here, Pip…its ok…”

                It had taken him a long time after being rescued from…that place…for him to allow anyone to touch him like this and even now it is only Merry that he can stand to have comfort him at night.

                There was something about his best friend’s arms that made him feel safe.

                His cheeks felt wet and, automatically, he brought his hand up to wipe away his tears.

                Blood.

                There was blood underneath his fingernails…

                A quick glance at the back of his arms, completely bare and apparently unprotected by the flimsy nightshirt the elves had given him to use, confirmed exactly what had happened.

                “M-Merry…”

                He’d scratched himself during his nightmare.

                It wasn’t the first time.

                Merry continued to murmur soothing nonsense in his ear as he reached out to grab one of the clothes which had been left beside the water jug and bowl on the bedside table, using it to wipe away the worst of the blood so that he could see how bad they were this time.

                “It’s ok, Pippin, they’re not too deep this time.”

                Once, after a particularly bad nightmare, Pippin had woken to find his sheets soaked in blood having scratched himself so deeply that it had left behind an inch thick scar almost two inches long.

                Using some of the water from the jug he washed out the cuts and then, tearing the cloth into strips, he carefully bandaged the various cuts until Pippin’s arms were almost completely covered.

                “There we go. All done…” Merry sighed softly. “We’ve got a long journey ahead of us come the morning, Pip, so how about we try and get some more sleep? Breakfast is still a long way away.”

                “I…I don’t think…”

                “Just lie down with me then,” Merry interrupted his hesitant denial quickly, shifting the two of them until they lay spooned together in the middle of the enormous bed. “I’ll keep you safe.”

 

~ * ~ * ~

               

                “The Ringbearer is setting out on the quest of Mount Doom and you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will,” Lord Elrond addressed the group of travellers gathered near the gates of Rivendell, the tired looking Merry and Pippin amongst them. “Farewell. Hold to your purpose and may the blessings of elves and men and all free folk go with you.”

                Pippin could feel the looks of concern being sent his way, not only from his friends and fellow travelling companions but from several of the elves as well, including Lord Elrond himself, and he’d definitely seen more than one of them glance worriedly towards the cut hidden beneath his sleeves.

                “The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer,” Gandalf pointed out, beckoning Frodo away from where he had been bidding a final farewell to his Uncle Bilbo with a gesture for him to lead the way.

                Frodo hesitated just for a moment before taking his place.

                “You stay right by my side, Pip,” Merry instructed softly as they set off. “I’ll keep you safe.”

                “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this, Merry,” Pippin admitted softly, his stomach unusually empty due to his unheard of lack of appetite at both breakfast and second breakfast that morning despite the absolutely delicious food laid out for them. “I just want to go home…”

                “We will go home, Pip,” Merry promised him. “Just as soon as we can.”

                “Mordor, Gandalf,” Frodo called out suddenly from the head of the group. “Is it left or right?”

                “Left.”

                Pippin whimpered softly, his hand reaching out automatically to take hold of Merry’s as they passed through the archway and turned left onto the well-trod path, clutching his friends hand tightly.

                He just wanted to go home…

 

A/N Phew! Talk about being on a writing kick after finishing “Of Lions And Lambs” – the series which has dominated my writing time for the last too many years to mention. Working my way through all these old stories of mine now in the hopes of eventually finishing all of them. Yay! Anyway comments and suggestions are definitely welcome as it will reassure me that people are still reading this. LOL. X

 


	4. Chapter Four - The Weary Traveller

Disclaimer: I own nothing…

Summary: Pippin is extremely jumpy around non-hobbit folk, going out of his way to remain un-noticed by them. Sadly that is not possible on the Quest and he finds himself having to trust the people he fears with his life. Will he ever get over the past horrors that haunt his dreams and plague his waking thoughts?

A/N: So many people have reviewed wanting this story to continue but I wrote it so long ago that, for an update to happen, I will have to completely re-write it as my style has changed dramatically. Hopefully you’ll still like the new and improved version.

 **WARNING –** unpleasant description of torture, both physical and sexual (not graphic)

 

Big People Are Bad – Re-Write

Chapter Four – The Weary Traveller 

 

Pippin had decided that hobbits were not made for big adventures such as this.

They tired easily, their overly large feet throbbing with every single step, were neither quick nor quiet unless they tried really, really hard and were continuously hungry so much so that the “three meals a day” agreement the group had agreed to was nowhere near enough.

It didn't help that he was practically asleep on his feet, his dreams each night having been plagued with even worse nightmares than usual which he struggled to wake up from and when he did it was to find one of his fellow hobbits crouched over him with their hand covering his mouth in order to keep him quiet, something which didn't help him recover from the unpleasant imaginings and memories his mind was forcing upon him.

Merry, as per usual, was his saviour and each day managed to arrange them in the long line so that he was in front of Pippin and Sam and the pony, named Bill by his gentle friend, were directly behind him with the various big people spread out in front and behind them.

Of his other companions Pippin found himself warming up to Gimli the most.

Their dwarves companion loved the sound of his own booming voice and could talk for hours on end about his family, his people and his own triumphs whilst also congratulating them all on being part of such a worthy quest, all the while bemoaning the lack of mead.

He was simple to read and, although he was taller than the four hobbits, he was still small.

Legolas, their elven companion, on the other hand still filled Pippin with fear without even having to say a word as his height, literally double that of the hobbits was terrifying.

He didn't seem to be offended by the lack of friendship being offered by the youngest members of their group, indeed he seemed to be the most sympathetic of them all and made a point of making noise whilst approaching any of them but Pippin in particular whereas normally he was completely silent, not even breaking the twigs he stepped on.

“Come, little ones, it's time for you to learn how to defend yourselves in battle!”

Pippin looked up from the flower he had been admiring when he heard the booming voice which terrified him the most of all those taking part in this quest, Boromir of Gondor, a mortal man so big and broad he could snap Pippin in half without pausing and who spoke with an accent so similar to that of the men who had…then men who had…

“We're fine, thank you,” Sam countered quickly, seeing his friends distress, pulling out the frying pan he'd stored in his pack. “We were just about to start cooking dinner.”

“Surely it only takes one hobbit to prepare dinner,” Boromir chuckled, as per usual refusing to take no for an answer as he turned to smile at them. “Come on, little ones, on your feet.”

And then he made his biggest mistake of the journey so far – he reached out and picked Pippin up, obviously intending to set the smallest of the hobbits on his feet himself only the hobbit in question opened his mouth and began to scream, struggling in his grip.

“Put him down!” Merry and Sam screamed as one, launching themselves towards the mortal man and smacking their sword (Merry) and their frying pan (Sam) against his legs.

Startled by the seemingly unexpected turn of events Boromir all but dropped the screaming creature in his arms, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender even as his two attackers turned their backs on him in favour of crowding in close around their hysterical friend.

“What just…?”

“Pippin doesn't like to be touched like that,” Frodo announced, moving to stand between where his friends were working together to calm the youngest member of their group, holding him in their arms and murmuring soft words in his ears. “Don't do it again.”

It should have been funny, a little thing like Frodo giving order to the son of a Steward but instead Boromir only nodded silently, his hands remaining aloft even as Frodo turned his back on him and joined the other hobbits in comforting the now whimpering Pippin.

“We must hold this course west of the Misty Mountains for forty days,” Gandalf announced suddenly, drawing the attention away from the four hobbits. “If our luck holds the Gap of Rohan will still be open to us and from there our road turns east to Mordor.”

One by one the other members of the fellowship shifted their attention from Pippins ashen face to Gandalf who had lit his long pipe at some point and was now puffing away.

“If anyone was to ask for my opinion, which I note they have not, I'd say that we were taking the long way round,” Gimli’s booming voice put in just as Pippin gave a loud gasp before falling silent, curled up in Merry’s comforting arms with Frodo stroking his hair while Sam started preparing a fire between the four hobbits and the rest of the group. “Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome.”

“No, Gimli,” Gandalf countered with a shake of his head over the top of Sam’s soft prattle about what he was going to cook for them all that evening, enquiring with false brightness about whether Pippin would prefer sausages or bacon with his tomatoes, pointing out the merits of both. “I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice.”

Legolas shifted suddenly, moving to stand on an outcropping of rock with his gaze fixed on the distant horizon and a frown marring his impossibly beautiful features and Gandalf wasn't the only one to turn his gaze in the same direction following his sudden movement.

“What is that?” Sam asked suddenly, pausing in his attempts to get the fire going as he caught sight of the dark cloud growing on the horizon they were all looking towards.

“Nothing,” Gimli dismissed quickly, lighting his own pipe. “It’s just a whisp of cloud.”

“It’s moving fast....” Boronia pointed out, his arms slowly dropping to his side as he turned to study the odd sight along with everyone else bar Merry and Pippin. “And against the wind…”

“Crebain!” Legolas called out suddenly, his voice sounding oddly panicked. “From Dudland!”

“Hide!”

Moving together the various members of the fellowship grabbed their things and found places to hide be it under an outcropping or inside a bush with unpleasantly sharp leaves.

“Hurry!”

Frodo grabbed Merry and Pippins things along with his own, throwing them into the bush that he and Sam chose to hide inside while Merry pulled Pippin under an outcropping of rocks near where they had been sitting, pressing his friend in first and then lying beside him.

“Frodo! Take cover!”

Pippins wide eyes were locked with Merry’s as they heard the enormous flock of birds reach their position, circling the area and getting worryingly close a couple of times before finally flying off, their cries echoing throughout the open landscape and filling them with dread.

“I don't think this was a very good idea, Merry…” Pippin mumbled softly, both of them remaining in their hiding place even as she others began to emerge. “I want to go home.”

“I know, Pip,” Merry sighed sadly, reaching out within the confined space to wipe away the tears on his friend’s cheeks. “But we couldn’t leave Frodo to face all of this alone could we?”

“Spies of Saruman,” Gandalf cursed just as Frodo and Sam came over to help Merry get Pippin out of their hiding place, both of them looking a little bit pale although whether it was from the close call or the news no one knew. “The passage south is being watched.”

Pippin felt eyes upon him and turned his head to find Strider, or Aragorn as they should call him now that they knew his proper name, staring across at the four hobbits with a look of concern on his face even as Legolas moved to stand beside him, murmuring something into the mortals ear when he finally came to a halt but never once looking across at them.

“We must take the _Pass of Caradhras_ …” Gandalf continued gravely, looking out towards the mountainous region they had been trying to avoid. “But tonight we shall rest here.”

~ * ~

_Pippin had learned a lot since coming to this place._

_Combe was a small village in Bree Land, located on the northeastern side of Bree-Hill in a deep valley about two miles southwest of the villages of Chetwood and Archet and about one mile north of the village of Staddle and was populated mostly by men._

_There were other hobbits but just like him they had been brought there against their will, their ankles locked inside heavy metal chains which kept them from straying off of the land where they were put to work tending the fields or minding the various animals._

_Pippin learned all of this from others, however, as he hadn't seen anything but his master’s bedroom since he had been brought here that fateful night almost two months previously._

_His master had a wife and children but they all slept in the room above his and were evidently as frightened of his master as he and the other “indentured” hobbits were, always moving as quietly as possible so as not to disturb him and obeying his every command._

_Pippin hated his master even more than he feared him._

_Every night since he'd been brought to the house he had been forced to do things which no self-respecting hobbit would ever willingly do, things that made him sick to his stomach with shame and repulsion as well as breaking his body in ways he hadn't realised possible, his youthful body struggling to keep up with all of the torture it was being put through._

_Already he was little more than a remnant of the hobbit he had once been, his muscles waning, his bones showing clearly underneath his pale and bruised skin and his hair matted._

_He had learned that, no matter what he thought or felt, he was to keep absolutely silent._

_He learned that the punishment for disobeying a direct order was far worse than he could possibly have imagined, his pale back bearing the scars of several whippings and beatings._

_He learned that after a while the pain of being breached faded, his mind becoming desensitised to the rough treatment, although it never truly went away, during or after._

_He learned that the world wasn't the safe place he had always imagined it to be._

_It was during his fifth month that his master began to enjoy hurting him more than he enjoyed doing…other things to him, complaining that he wasn't as much “fun” as he used to be and the beatings, the whippings, the broken bones, the branding…all of it increased._

_He learned then that after a while your mind can take you somewhere else, somewhere where there was no pain and no fear but it was always more and more difficult to return._

_When his back was being torn to shreds he imagined he was in Hobbiton on market day._

_When his forearm was snapped in two he imagined he was playing in the woods._

_When his ribs were broken again he imagined he was sneaking into the Green Dragon._

_When a hot poker was being pressed against the inside of his thighs, the smell of burning flesh filling the air in the small bedroom he imagined he was at home with his mother._

_He also learned that even when he did this he never stopped screaming._

_Luckily his master, twisted monster that he was, liked that...he liked that very much indeed…_

~ * ~

Legolas frowned, dropping down from his chosen resting place to sit beside Aragorn as the camp was once again filled with the youngest hobbits screams and whimpers, this time as he was tormented by his mind as he slept despite his friends attempt to keep him calm.

“What torments him so?”

Aragorn sighed, taking out his pipe and setting about cleaning it out.

“They do not speak of it but I fear Pippin has suffered greatly at the hands of men in his short life,” he murmured softly, his words carrying to where Boromir and Gimli were reclined on their bedrolls but also still awake. “Lord Elrond was concerned as to his physical and mental state but he declined the treatments that were offered. It is fairly obvious that he relies on his friends and they have all made their district of big people clearly known.”

Legolas’s eyes blazed with a fury usually reserved for orcs, goblins and spiders.

“He was attacked?” he demanded. “How could anyone attack such an innocent creature?”

Frodo appeared before them, biting his lip and fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves.

“You're right,” he murmured softly, his vivid blue eyes full of a bone deep sadness which could make even the toughest of hearts ache. “Pippin has…suffered at the hands of big peo…at the hands of mortals in the past. He does not like to speak of it but…well…I'm sure you can see that it trouble him still. He was getting better recently but then…”

“But then he foolishly volunteered for a quest containing four individuals who could easily be called big people,” Boromir muttered darkly, sitting up and staring across at them.

“Yes,” Frodo confirmed sadly. “I’m sure…I’m sure that once he gets used to…to traveling with all of you and figures out that…that you're friend not foe he’ll…he’ll get better again…”

“Frodo?” Aragorn called out softly as the polite hobbit turned to return to his friends who had succeeded in calming Pippin once more. “Why did he volunteer to come with us?”

It took Frodo a little while to come up with what he thought was a suitable answer without going into too much detail about a subject which was definitely not his story to share.

“Because the last time he was separated from us was when it happened.”

None of them got much sleep that night.

 

 **A/N** I was having real trouble getting this chapter going but then all of a sudden out it popped on day at work and my brain wouldn't let me stop writing until I'd finished it. Hope you enjoyed it. Comments/Suggestions are most definitely welcome. X


	5. Chapter Five - Caradhras

 

Disclaimer: I own nothing…

Summary: Pippin is extremely jumpy around non-hobbit folk, going out of his way to remain un-noticed by them. Sadly that is not possible on the Quest and he finds himself having to trust the people he fears with his life. Will he ever get over the past horrors that haunt his dreams and plague his waking thoughts? 

**A/N** : So many people have reviewed the original wanting this story to continue but I wrote it so long ago that, for an update to happen, I will have to completely re-write it as my style has changed dramatically. Hopefully you’ll still like the new and improved version. 

** Big People Are Bad – Re-Write **

** Chapter Five – Caradhras **

“I used to wonder what snow was like when I was a lad,” Merry announced suddenly, grimacing as his foot disappeared underneath almost a foot of snow as the group slowly made their way over the first of what appeared to be many mountains. “You know, real snow, not the sludge that we used to get come wintertime back in the Shire…”

Pippin huffed softly, the best response he could give at that particular moment.

“Well, now I'm starting to wish that I'd never found out what real snow was like,” Merry grumbled loudly, struggling to free his foot from the snows grip. “My feet are freezing!”

“I can't feel mine any more…” Pippin mumbled dejectedly, staring down at where his feet were completely covered by snow. “But at least there's less…less big people now…”

The further away from civilisation they'd gotten the more relaxed Pippin had felt, well, in terms of his personal safety regarding the people surrounding him. He didn't think he'd feel properly safe until he was back home in the Shire having a pint of ale at the Green Dragon. 

He'd spent enough time with Strider, who he knew he should be calling Aragorn now that he knew the mans name but just couldn't get his brain to cooperate, that he didn't mind the mans presence as much as he had when they'd first met. Oh, he wouldn't say he was comfortable around him, nor that he truly trusted him, but even he could see that the dark haired Ranger was nothing like the men whose faces continued to haunt his dreams.

It helped that Strider seemed to know Legolas, the elven member of their Fellowship, which put him ever so slightly at ease regarding the mostly silent creature. He was always there, always watching but he hardly ever spoke to the hobbits and he never approached them.

The dwarven member of their Fellowship, on the other hand, was never happier than when he was listening to the sound of his own voice and had attempted to infiltrate the hobbits tight group on more than one occasion. It was only his diminished height, not much taller that of the four hobbits, that eased Pippin’s mind and made him seem less threatening.

“Frodo!”

Hearing the panic in Striders voice Pippin turned along with the others and gasped in shock when he saw Frodo tumbling uncontrollably back down the mountainside, only coming to a stop when Strider reached out to physically grab hold of him and pull him up to his feet.

“Is he all righ–”

Merry’s worried voice was interrupted by Frodo beginning to panic, hands fluttering across his chest as though he were searching desperately for something which had gone missing.

Something glinted in the snow and they all watched as Boromir, the person closest to it, reached down and plucked the strange ring Frodo had been tasked to carry out of the snow by its delicate looking chain. He gazed upon the ring as though it were a thing of beauty.

“Boromir…” Strider murmured worriedly, stepping away from Frodo.

“It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing…” the other mans all but whispered, his voice carrying through the silence surrounding them and making Pippin shudder uncontrollably. “Such a little thing…”

Of all of them it was Boromir that he feared the most, something in the way he moved reminding him of the group of men who had hurt him so very much all those years ago.

“Boromir!” Strider snapped suddenly, making them all jump. “Give the ring to Frodo.”

“As you wish,” Boromir murmured, shaking his head as though he were coming out of a daze before walking towards Frodo and offering him the chain. “I care not.”

From the way Frodo snatched the chain away from the man it was safe to say that he cared a great deal, hurriedly slipping the ring beneath his shirt and patting it once it was hidden.

Boromir finished off his performance of not caring with a bright laugh, reaching out to ruffle the mess that was Frodo’s hair before turning away and continuing to climb the mountain.

Instinctively Pippin scurried away from him as the man passed by where he stood beside Merry, his breath seizing in his chest at the thought that he might reach out to touch him.

“It's ok, Pip,” Merry murmured quickly, stumbling to place himself between his friend and the not-as-oblivious-as-he-was-pretending-to-be human. “Let's keep moving or else we’ll never warm up. I could do with some of Mosco Boffins mulled cider right about now.”

Within a few paces Frodo had joined them, moving to walk on Pippin's other side while Sam brought up the rear of their little group within the group, holding tightly to the ponies rope.

He appreciated them doing that, especially when both Frodo and Merry reached down to take his hands in theirs under the pretext of helping him move through the snow better, the comfort they silently offered him finally helping to calm his breathing back down to normal.

~ * ~ * ~

“Merry!” Pippin whimpered fearfully. “I can't see a thing!”

Sadly he wasn't exaggerating in the slightest, what with the fact that they appeared to be forging on through a building blizzard. Not only was the snowfall almost constant it had settled on the ground so quickly that within minutes all four of the hobbits were almost completely obscured from view, only the very tops of their heads visible as they pushed through the snow, attempting to follow the path of those walking in front of them.

“We can't go on like this!” Sam called out from behind him. “Strider!”

Not only couldn't they see but because they were almost encased by the snow now all four of the hobbits were beginning to turn blue from the cold, their feet having gone completely numb and their hands following not long after. Ice had even begun to form in their hair.

“We cannot stop here!” Strider called back as best as he could above the truly horrific noise of the raging wind. “We must press on until we find somewhere to shelter until it passes!”

“But we can't see!”

It seemed that the frustrated desperation in Sam's normally bright voice finally made the taller members of the Fellowship stop and actually look back at what the four hobbits were having to contend with, even Gimli making a face as he realised how they were struggling.

“We cannot stop here,” Strider repeated once more. “Boromir, are you able to carry two of our friends? I believe I can manage two and with Gandalf and Gimli leading the way.”

Pippin blinked, his breath seizing in his chest as Boromir instantly confirmed that he could.

“M-Merry…” he whimpered as both of the humans turned and began making their way back down towards them, their features obscured by the snow. “They…I…I can't…”

“It's alright, Pip,” Merry hurried to reassure him. “I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.”

As the mortal man came to stop directly in front of them, grimacing as a strong gust of wind sent snowflakes and his own hair flying into his eyes, Pippin felt his entire body freeze up in a way that had nothing to do with the frigid temperature of the snow surrounding them.

Strong hands took hold of him beneath his arms, the tips of the gloved fingers digging painfully into his armpits as he was lifted up out of the snow without a moment’s hesitation.

He had absolutely no control over the sharp scream which escaped him, only to be silenced by his own fist as a cruel voice in the back of his mind reminded him that screaming only made it worse, made them enjoy hurting him all the more and that silence was best.

His body was swiftly manhandled so that he was sat on Boromir’s hip, his arms automatically latching on to the man’s thick neck in order to hold himself in place as the mortal scooped down to pick up Merry ego was quickly settled on his other hip.

“It's all right, Pip, I'm right here,” Merry hastened to reassure him, grabbing hold of Pippins arms and holding on tightly as the company began moving once more. “It's all right, Pip…”

Pippin didn't realise he was weeping silently, his eyes screwed so tightly shut that he also completely missed the concerned looks being shared by the other members of the Fellowship and the looks of regret and pity shot his way by the worried Frodo and Sam.

“Boromir isn’t like them,” Merry continued to murmured softly so that only the hobbit who needed to hear his voice and the man he spoke of could hear him. “You said you liked Boromir, remember? You said he might be a nice big person like Strider is. You're safe.”

Boromir silently vowed to himself that he would never do anything to hurt the poor young hobbit trembling against his side with endless tears freezing upon his painfully pale cheeks.

It was only a short time later, during which time Merry never stopped softly reassuring Pippin that everything was alright despite the way his voice had begun to croak painfully, that Legolas had slipped past them all by walking on top of the snow only to pause suddenly.

“There is a fell voice on the air.”

Gandalf reacted by struggling to join him, using a silent spell in order to make it so that the delicate snow could hold his weight as he gazed out towards the horizon far in the distance.

“It's Saruman!”

A mighty cracking sound drew their attention to the mountainside above them, all of them reacting with various degrees of panic as chunks of rock began falling down towards them, only missing them due to the quick reactions of those still standing on their own two feet.

Boromir even went so far as to pull the hobbits he held into his chest as he pressed himself against the side of the mountain, his back exposed to the danger of the falling rocks. 

“He's trying to bring down the mountain!” Strider called out from where he had adopted a similar position with Frodo and Sam, protecting them. “Gandalf! We must turn back!”

“No!” Gandalf called out before beginning to chant, stumbling forwards from where Legolas had dragged him out of harms way. “ _Losto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho i 'ruith!”_ (Sleep, Caradhras, be still, lie still, hold your wrath!)

A streak of lightning burst forth from the tumultuous clouds above them, striking the mountainside high above their heads and Pippin wasn't the only one to cry out in terror as a seemingly impossible amount of snow began tumbling down towards where they stood.

He was torn away from both Merry and Boromir by the force of the snow landing on top of them, choking as his open mouthed scream led to an unwanted mouthful of snow as his body was completely encased in the freezing substance, his clothes rapidly becoming drenched as he thrashed and struggled, attempting to claw his way up through the snow.

It was no use.

No matter how hard he tried he couldn't seem to drag his body up through the layer of snow, the weight of his soaking wet clothes combining with the weight of the snow itself. 

Was this it?

After everything he'd suffered in his short life was _this_ how it was going to end?

His panicked screams, which had been near constant, trailed off into a terrified whimper just moments before two large hands plunged through the snow directly above him, reaching around blindly for a long moment before finally grabbing hold of his jacket and pulling.

“Pippin!”

How he came to end up in the centre of a hobbit pile he wasn't sure but he was sincerely glad of it, his three friends wrapping their arms around him and pressing themselves against him in a move meant to comfort and warm both themselves and Pippin in the middle.

“We must get off the mountain!” Boromir called out, his deep voice only just loud enough be heard above the wind. “Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!”

Strider shook his head,

“The _Gap of Rohan_ takes us too close to _Isengard_!”

“If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it!” Gimli called out from where he was still freeing himself from the blanket of snow. “Let us go through the Mines of Moria.”

Gandalf sighed wearily, leaning on his staff,

“Let the Ringbearer decide.”

Uncomfortable at bring the centre of attention Frodo shared a look with Sam, seeking reassurance from his most loyal friend that he could make the right decision for everyone.

“We cannot stay here!” Boromir called out, sounding genuinely concerned for their safety. He was staying close to them as well but, Pippin noticed, not too close which was actually more comforting than anything he had said or done. “This will be the death of the hobbits!”

“Frodo?”

Frodo sighed, glancing towards Gandalf before answering as confidently as he could,

“…we will go through the Mines.”

“So be it.”

~ * ~ * ~ 

Pippin wanted to go home.

They had descended the mountain, Boromir carrying himself and Merry for significantly longer than he was comfortable with, and now they were making their way through a rocky valley. A layer of mist covered everything, giving it an eerie, spooky quality, and even though Merry was walking as close beside him as he possibly could Pippin felt completely alone.

Merry had attempted to draw him into conversation but he'd pursed his lips together and shaken his head, knowing that if he attempted to speak he would quickly be reduced to uncontrollable tears as his longing for the safety of home threatened to overwhelm him. 

He wondered what his family were doing…

Was his mother, Eglantine, baking a delicious cake for them to feast upon after their evening meal? Was his father, Paladin Took II, the current _Thrain_ of the Shire sitting in front of the fire in his usual chair, his feet up on the footstool as he puffed away at his pipe? Were his three older sisters, Pearl, Pimpernel and Pervinca, staying in for the evening, giggling about boys as they made alterations to their dresses? Or were they going out dancing? 

…were they worried about him?

Silently he scolded himself; of _course_ they were worried about him.

The last time he'd disappeared…well…that had happened. A letter from Lord Elrond of Rivendell, sent on behalf of the four hobbits, would do nothing to reassure them, he knew. 

Only his safe return to their family farm in Whitwell would ease their worry.

He was startled out of his thoughts of home by Gimli's exclaiming joyously,

“Ah! The _Walls of Moria_!”

It was a cliff.

Pippin wasn't the only member of the company to frown and Gimli hurried across to a seemingly endless stretch of what was most definitely an almost completely flat cliff face.

There was nothing obviously special about the cliff, nothing to make it stand out from other cliffs of a similar size or colour. Gandalf had increased his speed of walking, following after their dwarven companion, but the rest of them approached slowly, obviously doubtful. 

Gimli smiled proudly at them, tapping his axe against the cliff face as he announced,

“Dwarf doors are invisible when closed.”

Invisible?

The entrance they needed to use was invisible? That sounded…problematic...

“Yes, Gimli,” Gandalf murmured, running his hand across the cliff face, fingers searching for a clue of some sort. “Their own masters cannot find them, if their secrets are forgotten.”

Legolas scoffed,

“Why doesn't that surprise me?”

Gimli responded by glaring up at him, axe paused inches away from the cliff face.

“Ach!”

As they followed Gandalf and Gimli, both of them searching the cliff face for the invisible door, Pippin noticed that the mist to their right was in fact hiding an enormous, black lake. Something about it sent an unpleasant shiver running down his spine and he couldn't blame Frodo when the older hobbit stumbled, foot splashing in the water, jumping away as quickly as possible, his blue eyes wide and fearful as he gazed out across the large lake.

“Ah…” Gandalf mumbled suddenly, bringing all of the, to a halt as his fingers seemed to follow an invisible line of the cliff face. Pippin couldn't see anything; it looked exactly the same as the rest of it. “Now, let me see. _Ithildin_. It mirrors only starlight and moonlight…”

They watched as the wizard glanced up at the sky over his shoulder, visibly willing the dense clouds to part and reveal the blanket of stars, hundreds of twinkling a dots of different sizes surrounding the bright orb of ethereal blue light that was one of the biggest moons Pippin had ever seen. It was the same moon they had in the Shire, right? He frowned, watching as the rays of moonlight fell upon the cliff face and then jumped, unable to stop himself, when the area underneath Gandalf’s hand began to glow the same light blue colour as the moon.

“Oh…”

As they watched an ornate patterned in the shape of an enormous door appeared before on the rock, the lines glowing in the moonlight. It was both beautiful and worrying, the knowledge that doors could be hidden so completely sitting unpleasantly in Pippins stomach. Across the top of the doors arch was a line of intricate writing which even he, a hobbit of the Shire who until now hadn't willingly ventured from home, could recognise.

Elvish.

Gandalf sighed happily, stepping back to fully take in the door, announcing clearly,

“It reads; _The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak friend and enter.”_

“What do you suppose that means?” Merry piped up from beside Pippin, frowning deeply.

“Oh, it's quite simple,” Gandalf responded, his deep voice filled with confidence. Raising his staff he pleaded the gem it contained against what Pippin assumed must be the door handle, pressing gently as he continued, “If you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open. _Annon Edhellen, edro hi ammen_!” (Gate of the Elves, open now for me!)

Pippin blinked, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing.

Gandalf huffed, changing his stance so that he was holding both his hands up to the door.

“ _Fennas Nogothrim_ ,” he all but growled, his tone of voice significantly more serious this time. “ _Lasto beth lammen_.” (Doorway of the Dwarf-folk, listen to the word of my tongue.)

Nothing.

Pippin frowned worriedly,

“Nothing's happening…”

“I once knew every spell in all the tongues of elves, men and orcs…” Gandalf growled, setting his staff aside in favour of physically pushing against the doors.

What came over him he’d honestly never know but before he could stop himself, before he could think it through, Pippin had opened his mouth and asked loudly,

“What're you going to do then?”

“Knock your head against these doors Peregrin Took, and if that does not shatter them and I'm allowed a little peace from foolish questions…” Gandalf snapped, cutting himself off when he caught sight of Pippin’s reaction; the hobbit had flinched backwards so violently that he’d lost his footing and had only been save from falling onto a sharp pile of rocks by Merry’s quick actions. His frustrated impression softened as he watched Merry comfort him. “…I will try to find the opening words.”

“Come on, Pip,” Merry murmured, turning his friend away from the towering wizard and leading him across to sit on a relatively flat rock beside the lake. “It’s ok…”

“It’s not ok…” Pippin countered weakly, shaking his head where it had come to rest against Merry’s strong shoulder. “I was getting better. I hadn’t had a nightmare in weeks before we got caught up in all of this. Now I can’t…I can’t even…I can’t…” 

Merry hushed him, holding him close as he gently rocked him back and forth.

“I was getting _better_ …”

~ * ~ * ~

 **A/N** Apologies for how long it’s taken me to get this update finished; I had most of it written but then got into a bit of a funk and had to re-write a bit to get over it. I can’t promise it won’t happen again as I have far too many projects on the go (not just stories, either, but in real life as well) but I have no plans to abandon this story. Comments & Suggestions welcome. X


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